


Twisted Reality

by justsimplymeagain



Series: A Twisted'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Demonic Possession, Drugs, Dub-con/Non-con, M/M, Psychological Torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, evil!Dean, memories of hell, mentions of torture, past Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsimplymeagain/pseuds/justsimplymeagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's falling – the people who kept Hell's teachings away are either missing or dead or simply not there... All of which leaving Dean in Crowley's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean found himself slouched on a hotel table, legs a tad bit wobbly from the constant use over the years in the out of the way and not even one star hotel. Needlessly said he could have sworn correctly that he found evidence of it not being cleaned properly from the last guests promiscuous behaviour and rodents. He couldn't bring himself to care all that much.

Not with the complete buzzed state he found himself in. A dangerous combination of alcohol and drugs. He wasn't usually the type to even come close to using drugs, usually just stuck with alcohol. But with his mood and the need to escape reality for some time he had to. Well, he didn't have to but he chose to. Not the same thing, but in an angst filled mind that was intoxicated it seemed like a good enough reason.

His coming to the decision to put himself in danger for natural threats and the usual supernatural threats started with a fight and an untimely separation.

Sam wanted a normal life, not wanting to acknowledge that they would never have a normal life. That was decided the second they became destined to be two douche-bag's true vessels. Not that that so called destiny came to pass, for Dean anyway. Sammy said yes. Dean couldn't bring himself to curse his sibling for that, only curse Lucifer who stole his brother away.

Normally a fight wouldn't lead to such a drastic shift in Dean's unruly and idiotic decisions like getting drunk or in this case, high. They had fights so many times before. Dean could no longer count how many times they fought. They were brothers after all, that was the only normal thing in their lives if you thought about it.

But this time was different. Very different and too similar at the same time.

Maybe it was because Sam didn't try to help him out of Purgatory. Maybe it was because Dean finally had enough. Enough hurt from being betrayed, hurt from being left behind for a woman and a dog this time. Or maybe he finally found that edge. At least it wasn't a demon this time, like last time with Ruby.

The fight was explosive, neither of them budged or removed themselves from the others personal space. Something that bothered Dean to some degree, he always did like his personal space especially after his stint in Hell. Personal space was important, nearly as important as other things deemed important by Dean. That list was liable to change at any given moment.

In the end Sam left without throwing a single punch, shockingly neither of them fought physically this time. He just up and left after they went to bed angry and frustrated with each other. Dean didn't even catch Sam in the act. Just woke up to a note signed officially at the bottom. It wasn't that afternoon though that Dean found out that it wasn't a hoax or a trap or anything after a short cutting conversation between himself and Sam.

No sign or key words used to show that it was a set up, that Sam was in trouble.

It was what it was.

Sammy left to go back to that normal life. And Dean, Dean was left alone and in the hotel room that now felt suffocatingly empty.

On the ground there was glass shards and mirror shards from the flash of Dean's temper. Cooling off just as quickly. He went and fetched himself alcohol and wasn't asked questions out of hospitality on the saleswoman at the liquor store. His whole outlook probably looked murderous for that. She took his money and gave him his change just to get him out of there. Even when he decided to drastically get himself drugs for some foolish reason, the drug dealer didn't charge him.

Kid was smart to know when someone more dangerous then you was on the prowl. Best to get that someone away as quick as you can.

Dean locked the door behind him and simply drowned himself in his foolish decisions. Unashamedly. There was no one here to stop him, phone him or save him from being a complete and utter moron. Worse, no one to distract him from blurred thoughts and voices and the worst thing for him. Memories.

Shifting slightly he eyed the room with distaste as he sat up enough to finish off the bottle loosely held between his fingers before it fell and made another mess. Not that Dean had the energy to really care. Faintly his mind travelled to Benny, the vampire who helped him escape from Purgatory. Benny so far was probably the only vampire he liked and trusted to not screw him over like any other supernatural being out there.

That could change though. Even Dean knew that. For now he'll trust the man, more or less. Later on, well we'll see.

Benny was the last person in his life that didn't leave him in some manner or another. Yes they were in two different places, but Benny actually figured out phones enough to send text messages. He really sucked at it.

The rest of them though. Bobby left Dean by dying on him, Dean felt a surge of anger at that. He couldn't let it get too far though, he killed the bastard who caused Bobby to be shot and eventually die. Then they had to burn the flask! Bobby was truly gone and Dean didn't even get to meet up with him in Purgatory. Did that mean he was safe? That he was in his own Heaven or worse. Was he in his own Hell?

The same thing with his Dad, but not before countless times of being left behind to be an adult in a child's body and raise Sam. Before he took off for good leaving Dean to hunt on his own until he caved and went and fetched Sam from his fake life. Then the son of a bitch had to go and die for Dean! Dean once again felt a surge of familiar anger. The alcohol and drugs was making things difficult.

Then there was Castiel. The badass nerdy Angel of the Lord. Who before being sucked into Purgatory with Dean, was driven insane with Sam's insanity and his own guilt that became unhinged with the regained memories of eons and recent history. He wasn't dead...

But he was gone.

He left Dean alone, let him and Benny save themselves and didn't or couldn't follow. Protecting Dean. Protecting Benny. Saving Dean again. He was always saving Dean. Always.

And last but not least, there was Sam. Always there was Sam. Everything seemed to come back to his little foolish broken baby brother. A brother who fought against Dean. Fought with Dean. Died for the world and knew what was out there. So he should want to help people so they wouldn't got through the things Sa-they went through. But Sam wanted a normal life. Wanted and went out to take it. Leaving Dean alone.

This time it felt too final. Uncomfortably.

_"Aren't you a sorry sight to look at..."_

Dean instantly shot up and looked behind him where the echo of the voice came from. A familiar voice. He saw nothing. Only picked up the memory of sulphur, heat, blood and... Belonging. The memory of being owned, trained and broken down. Dean cursed angrily.

Coming to the conclusion he should have came to before he started this binge drinking and drug escapade, that he shouldn't have put himself into such an intoxicated state. Standing up on unsteady legs he wondered over to the bathroom, pointlessly checking inside for any sign of anyone. No one was there, which was a giver considering that voice was of someone who was dead.

Bracing himself on the doorway he turned back to the room noting to himself that there was only one bag. Sam's was gone, obviously. But then so was Kenny who gone into hiding with his Mother in order to care for her. He did say that he'll contact Dean when he comes up with a lock for the door to Hell. Which would be hard considering a key piece to figuring that out was currently with Crowley. Dean didn't fault him for his decision, Dean might have done the same thing.

_"I'm disappointed Dean, such a sorry state to find you in."_

Dean spun around causing a bout of dizziness to catch him off guard and bringing him to his knees. Maybe he shouldn't have put himself into such a state. No one was there. But the voice, his old master's voice was so clear in his mind. It was as though he was back with the demon again.

The fact that the voice, the voice of Alastair saying that he was disappointed stung. More then what he wanted to admit to. A part of him never liked it when someone was disappointed in him. It hurt and it felt almost as bad as being betrayed. Almost.

"I'm sorry..." Dean managed to force out. He didn't know why he was apologizing, he'll blame it on the drugs or event he alcohol. He wished he didn't get drunk or high for that matter. He wouldn't be hearing voices. Hearing _his_ voice. Dean looked around, frantically and saw no one else around. Only Dean. Alone. Left behind Dean Winchester.

Betrayed.

Forcing himself to his feet he made his way to the chair he has occupied for the last several hours. He muses on the fact that he should be used to it, everyone seemed to have a thing for doing that. And even though Dean knew that was unfair and probably untrue, it didn't stop him from feeling that way. The ugly fact was, out of everyone there was only one person who actually stuck with him for countless years was the demon who hurt him so badly. And changed a part of him and no matter how many times Castiel may have pulled him from his Hell, it won't go away. It's still there, it will always be there. Forever.

No one comes out of Hell, on their own or on a chariot of angels and remain the same. That was fact.

 ** _'I know'_** A voice came from right behind him, the first time there was an honest direction for the voice to come from. Dean spun around and found himself face to face with none other then Alastair. Only Alastair wasn't in a vessel, he was in his natural state that he would be in. His true form, only visible like this if they were in Hell or Purgatory.

Dean's mouth opened in order to say something but what could he say to someone who's dead. Who should be dead. An hallucination. Something that never happened to Dean before, well except for that one time he had a fever and worried Lisa sick because of the things he muttered. Dean was still thankful that Ben didn't see any of it. Dean would have died if he did.

Dean shouldn't be hallucinating! That was Sam's gig. Dean shook his head slightly, rubbed his eyes before looking towards where Alastair was supposedly standing. He was still there and grinning down at Dean. Once again after a few years or so, he felt small.

Dean muttered to himself about it not being real and staggered away from the demon who haunted his dreams even to this day.

 ** _'I can assure you, I'm as real as you want me to be. After all, we both know I'm the only one who didn't abandon you. Like everyone else.'_** Alastair said in that lisp he spoke with in Hell. Maybe it was because he only had half of a physical face. Rotten, but still physical. Something Dean could focus on when looking the man in the face but not into those eerily pale white eyes. He couldn't stand those white eyes and usually found himself fantasizing about removing them on and off the rack.

Dean snarled to himself slightly. As always Alastair seemed to hit it where it hurts. Sadistic bastard.

"It's not like they meant to! Not completely. And if you're as real as I want you to be, then go away! I don't want you here! I don't want you to be real. You're just a fucking figment of my fucked up imagination." Dean snarled angrily, banging could be heard on the wall. Other guests wanting him to be silent. He glared. Alastair smiled, stretching the rotten half of his face and shifting the non physical side of his face.

This wasn't real. He knew that now because if this was the real Alastair would have taken Dean's disrespect out of his skin. Literally, probably some muscle and organs as well. If they were still in Hell that is. This was just an hallucination. Dean looked at the drugs that was now used up and only leaving traces behind. That must be the reason behind this.

 ** _'Maybe so, but you my boy are desperate to have some company. Someone to be that voice in your ear when you need one.'_** Alastair agreed with a shrug of his deformed body. Smoke and rot making it up as a whole. The funny thing was, you could touch the smoke and it felt firm like it was actual flesh. Dean knew that because of the amount of times he had to touch his master back.

"If I wanted company I could have gone to a bar..." Dean snarled out, quiet enough to not bother his neighbours. A nod of acknowledgement, Alastair's way of saying that Dean had a point.

 ** _'But that's not it, and we know it boy. You need someone here, to aim your lost mind in a direction. How about this, you let yourself sober up, rest and then go for a nice long drive. You do still have the Impala right?'_** Alastair calmly said, mocking the act of looking outside.

"Ya..." Dean answered before he could catch himself, his eyes following Alastair's every move. Only an hallucination brought on by his sorry state. Why was he hanging onto his words like some sorry no good idiot?

 ** _'Well then go for a drive.'_** Alastair pushed. The same tone he uses when he first put a razor in Dean's shaking hands. Telling him to give it a try.

_Dean hated himself, but was too desperate and too broken to care as he found himself on his knees in his own blood and organs in front of the demon who carved and cut and tore into him day after day, year after year. Gasping as the pain lessened and went away like he helplessly and foolishly prayed for. Prayed to who? This was Hell, there was no one to pray to. No one to hear his cries and his pleading and his need to be rescued. Who would rescue a damned man?_

_"Go on boy, my boy. Little Dean-o. Make me proud." The cursed Demon whispered down to him as he kindly helped Dean to his feet, held him up like a mockery form of a saviour. A razor was put in Dean's unsteady hands and he was turned around to what used to be his rack and saw a woman strapped to a clean rack._

_"Have at her. Give it a try, you might like it." Alastair said as he let Dean go to stand on his own two feet for the first time in thirty years._

"Now?" Dean asked when he finally escaped the memory and focused on the Demon who was oddly fixated on Dean.

 ** _'Sure. Have at her son.'_ ** Alastair pushed.

Dean shook his head and rubbed his eyes frantically. Once again foolishly hoping that Alastair would be gone when he finally opened his eyes again. Hoped in a foolish and blind way. Only to be proven wrong as he opened his eyes to view the demon who now looked like he did in his final vessel, covered in blood the way he was when Dean worked him over pointlessly. The angels should have known or at least figured that Alastair liked pain. Hated earth and if it was possible, loved Hell.

"I'm not your son." Dean snarled out as he forced himself to where the keys to the Impala was. Why was he even considering listening to a suggestion from a stupid hallucination that he shouldn't be having in the first part? Only that he did feel the need to clear his head. Maybe that would get ride of Alastair's mocking face in every way but in his nightmares.

Dean didn't get any response to that as he exited the room, it was night at this point and Alastair was sitting in the passenger seat as though he had a right to sit there. Dean frowned but didn't do anything, how could you get an hallucination to get out of the car. Instead he climbed in and relaxed into the familiar seat and the reassuring feel of the wheel in his hands. For a good ten minutes he simply sat there.

Alastair was talking about situations between them, shared and pushed onto Dean.

One thing Dean never mentioned to anyone was that Alastair told him stories about his beginnings, Alastair was one of the few demons who remembered who they were.

_"Did you know Dean-o, that I once was considered to be a righteous man. I worked to help people, save them. Then I fell. I did some things, came up with some old school interrogation methods that the good Lord didn't agree with. Things like the Judas Cradle. Aside from creating things like that to protect the innocent, single out the guilty. I was a good guy." Alastair calmly explained as Dean found himself curled at the monsters feet. Obediently._

_"Why did you fall... If you helped people." Dean found himself asking, the first question he freely asked. Like a child he hoped for an answer._

_"Because the good Lord is a fanatical prick who cherry picks who goes up and who does not. Good thing is, I found my purpose here Dean-o. Just like you will. After all, anyone who comes here is guilty of something. Like yourself, like myself. So they get what they deserve here. Do you believe me?" Alastair answered and Dean hated the elated joy he felt at having someone answer him patiently._

_"Yes..." Dean answered with a sure nod._

_And he did believe him._

Dean started the car and sped out of the driveway and found himself a stretch of highway to speed down. He didn't care that he left his belongings behind. The important things were in the trunk. The weapons, I.D, Holy Oil and Holy Water. Like he said, the important things.

And for the next few hours he drove up and down the highway, listening to an hallucination that was fading away as his mind cleared and fighting against that hallucination. He hated that he was seeing Alastair. Hating that he was feeling so low and so vulnerable. He didn't feel this way since he was in Purgatory before he met Benny and escaping Alastair's cave.

He filled up when necessary with money stashed away in the car.

It wasn't until the sun started to show signs of coming up that the hallucination as pointless and unwanted as it was, was gone. But it left things in him that he didn't want to own up to. Memories. Thoughts. Wants. An old temptation carving it's way back into his mind.

"I pray to Cas, my soul to keep... Wherever you are, save me again... One last time, I'm falling..." Dean didn't know what possessed him to say that as he almost jokingly tried to run from the sun as it raised behind him, but he did and all he could hear is Alastair's laugh along with his own, one that reminded him of back when he wasn't acting like he would have. When he was an apprentice.

A simple quote echoed in his mind. One he hated along with his memories. One spoken to him in Purgatory by Alastair himself.

_"Sum quod Eris; quod es, ipse fui"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sum quod Eris; quod es, ipse fui" means "I am what you will be; what you are, I myself have been" in Latin. I found the quote and for some odd reason I rather did enjoy it.
> 
> You have a choice, and I would love to hear what you think should happen.
> 
> Dean either A) goes evil like the quote may imply or B) rise above his memories and hurts to be good?
> 
> And do you think he should be paired with anyone? Because at this point, the story is still forming and can change to fit what you think might happen or should happen if I like your suggestion. So opinion's and character selections can change.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean found himself in the next town over after he quickly drove back and grabbed his bag full of clothing and simply left without paying. Leaving one hell of a mess to clean. He couldn't really care much at the moment while he sat in his own soberness. He knew he had the smell of alcohol on him still, he has yet to have a shower since he started his escapade of binge drinking and doing the stupid mistake of taking drugs.

That is one thing that he would never do again. Drugs didn't really let him escape reality, it only let his mind open enough to let images of Alastair in all his dreaded glory. How he despised the demon. And how he despised how odd his hallucination was behaving.

That wasn't Alastair.

Alastair's tones were right, no question about that. But he wasn't right. He was too laid back. Too... Nice. And that was unusual and Dean found that to be concerning. After all, Dean spent forty years with the demon without a single break. The first thirty years he was being tortured in ways that he would have never considered before. There truly was no words to describe the pain and agony he was put through. Torture couldn't even begin to cover it. Then for ten years he was the one wielding the razors and whatever else he was given as tools. For those ten years he was the one with the power. And he was the one who inflicted the pain and gained pleasure out of it. And that was the greatest shame he experienced, and Alastair basked in it and tormented Dean with it.

Needlessly said that with the hallucinations came those memories. He blamed it on his foolish and unusual decision making. But that was over now. Wasn't it? He wouldn't have to deal with more of those memories that left raw wounds behind. Dean knew that was a load of crap, the memories were going to be there forever but at least without the uncontrolled wondering that came with this bought of drinking and drugs, he could keep a lid on them. More or less.

Staring at the road he was driving on minutes earlier he let his mind drift off slightly and away from the previous darkening thoughts about things when the sound of AC DC stirred his attention back from the road and his twisting and uneasy thoughts to his pocket. He already knew who it would be without seeing the caller I.D. Still he looked anyway and the three lettered name of 'Sam' popped up.

Dean frowned, after the whole I'm done with this lifestyle Sam was phoning him now? What was up with that. Couldn't the kid make up his damn mind.

Dean answered and wished he didn't. A gruff acknowledgement was all that was needed to send Sam off into one of his disapproval speeches.

Dean almost forgot that the hotel was under Sam's fake name and the hotel contacted Sam right away as soon as the rooms state was discovered. Dean felt himself getting angry at the fact that after Sam just left he had the nerve to phone Dean just to lecture him about what he should or should not do?! Dean didn't know what was worse. The audacity of the act or the fact that his little brother was speaking down to him with a phone in between them.

He wanted to call his brother a coward. But Sammy wasn't a coward, he was one of the few people Dean knows to be strong and brave in the face of things that would break the average person. But that didn't change the fact that right now was the worst time for Sam to be phoning about this and giving Dean trouble for it. Any other time Dean would take it laying down and hand attitude back only halfheartedly, Sam was the only one he didn't put his full ability of attitude and cutting words to. No matter how angry he got.

Taking a deep breath Dean growled out,  
“Save it Sam. I know, and you know what I don't care at the moment. If you didn't...” Dean was interrupted, and reminded that his baby brother was just as stubborn as any other Winchester alive or dead. Dean glowered at passerby's and went back to focusing on the sound of an angry little brother.

“You know what, save it Sam! I get the point, I shouldn't have made such a mess. But you know what, I don't care. I'm pissed off and at least I took it out on the fucking room and myself rather then you or anyone else!” Dean interrupted angrily. Silence followed and Dean had to swallow a lump of guilt and anger for the guilt. He knew he shocked his brother by the whole 'you' part of the things Dean just said.

Sam was speaking again, calmer and it was obvious to Dean that he was trying to keep control of himself. Now he was playing peace keeper. If Dean wasn't in such a negative mood he would have laughed. It would have been a bitter humourless laugh, but a laugh all the same.

“Save it. I know, okay. I got it. Just go live your apple pie life, after all that was what you wanted wasn't it.” Dean harshly snapped, knowing he probably shouldn't have said such things. More angry words, a circle they can't seem to break at the moment. And maybe that was Dean's fault.

Dean fought with Sam for a good few minutes after that. Neither of them trying to understand the others point in this argument and where they stand. To Dean, Sam betrayed him and abandoned him and forgot the one golden rule. Brothers look out for each other, they don't fuck off and live another life and forget the family business or more importantly their brother who is stuck in this life and now by his own choice more now then it was then.

For Sam, Dean figured and knew for a fact it was the same old want. He wanted to be normal, to have a normal life with a girl and a dog and a white picked fence like all the other normal every day American's. Dean finds that boring. And still upset about a dog being in the Impala. Dean at this point and with his anger would have shot the dog without thinking. It was sick, but he was angry and didn't care at the moment.

After the fighting became too annoying and only fuelled Dean's animosity for things at the moment he hung up. And refused to answer the phone when Sam tried to phone him back. Five times in total but after that the phone went silent. Dean toyed with the idea of throwing the phone away and getting a new one.

He couldn't.

Instead he got back into the Impala and threw the phone onto the back seat and sped off without a direction in mind. Anger only made him press harder on the gas pedal and floored it. And for several hours until the gas started to run low, Dean sped through highways as long as the coast was clear to do so. He didn't want to run into cops or other drivers on the road. The one vehicle he did cross was a semi-truck and it honked at Dean when he passed him without warning and sped ahead of it. Apparently the driver wasn't entirely fond of the suddenness of it. Too bad. Dean didn't care too much about that and only sped away his anger.

Dean finally settled on a hotel, passing off the wrinkled nose of the front desk woman because Dean was fully aware that he stunk. So he couldn't blame her, still she could have been more discreet about it. Dean gave her a smile anyway as she handed him his key to the queen suite. He rarely gets to have rooms like this, usually it was double beds because he had his brother with him.

Dean frowned and shook the thoughts away as he dragged his bags into the room and instantly made his way to the shower. It felt good, and Dean couldn't even blame himself for being hedonistic with the hot water as it relaxed his muscles. He didn't realize he was that tense. With a satisfied sigh he climbed out of the shower and simply wrapped a towel around his waist. The towels were well used, and not as fluffy as they might have been when ordered and received. But they worked.

With a calmer mind and a shower Dean had the time to think about his next step. He'll still be hunting, that was a giver. He was a hunter, it's in his blood now. He just needed to figure out what to do with other things. The original plan of locking the door on demons is out of the window without Kevin and the second tablet about Demons.

And the concerning thing was that Crowley and any other demon activity was far too silent to be a good thing.

Walking over to the second bag he pulled out a couple cases of salt and went about salting the door and the windows. He wanted to take a nap for a few hours and he didn't want to risk the chance of being bothered. Once that was finished Dean took the colt from the bag and carried it to the bedroom and set it under the pillow before climbing into bed himself. Still only a towel covering his waist. This would be one of the rare times he went to bed without a bottle of alcohol by his bed or completely sober.

There were reasons why he had to have a bottle before or after he wakes up.

_The rack before him was clean and already occupied by the next patient as his Master would call them. Dean learnt that the man was topside during the second world war and working within the occupation camps under the orders of Hitler himself. Though the fool obviously didn't know what Alastair was._

_Dean has been taught by the best and he had five years of practice under his belt. He would say that he's pretty good, but as he has been told it's never a good thing to let your pride get away from you. Work and improvements could always be made. Just like his Master learnt new tactics while carving into Dean and carving away pesky bits of unwanted humanity._

_Dean in all sense and purpose was slowly being molded into a version of Alastair himself. A newly made son. A protege. A student in the arts of torture. Meg was there as well, she didn't like him too much and Dean didn't like her. She was only jealous that their teacher was paying more attention to Dean._

_Finally someone payed more attention to him then to Sam._

_Dean picked a small scalpel first. Always good to start small and work your way to the bigger toys._

_“Good morning, Bela.” Dean greeted with a friendly smile, dried blood covering is arms up to his elbows. Splotches of blood covered most of his deforming body of wounds and smooth flesh. Dean always liked to greet his patients in a friendly manner, Heaven knows the rest of their day would be filled with screams._

_It was what his Master has done for him day after day for the length of time he's been on the rack himself. He couldn't even tell you how long it's been. He'll be sure to ask Alastair that later._

_“Go to hell!” She snarls at him, obviously not liking Dean's politeness at all. Or maybe it was the scalpel in his hands, sharp and gleaming._

_“We're already here sweetheart. Now, lets see what else we can find out about your daddy. Yesterday was your mother.” Dean suggested as he stepped towards the rack and watched as she tried to shrink away. Dean felt eyes on his back, he knew it was Alastair and knew not to look back. Get to work, always work. If he makes a mistake, Alastair will take it out of his flesh. Again._

_“Make me proud.” Alastair said from behind Dean and despite how wrong it was, Dean only wanted to work harder to impress the demon._

Dean woke with a startle and instantly found himself kneeling on the bed rather then laying down. He looked like he was about to flee. Panting he looked at the alarm clock beside the table and realized that his short nap turned out to be a few hours long. With his heart beating wildly he looked for a bottle of alcohol instinctively and realizing with a curse that there was none.

It's been a few years or so that he's even thought about Bela. If things were different, he would have liked her. She made things interesting in between pissing Dean off. And she knew how to handle herself, boy did she ever. And what was on the rack, he refused to call it his, was not what he remembered. She was broken down by the time she came to Dean. And was used for the past five years in between other victims to desensitize him from what he was doing.

Dean figured it was done that way rather then having her desensitize him in the start was to torment him until he got to that point. After all, torment doesn't stop completely when you just get off the rack. But Dean won't deny that the pain stopped and that he got pleasure from a few areas after he picked up the knife that was offered to him for thirty years.

Dean shifted so he was sitting at the edge of the bed and simply sat there for a good few minutes trying to get his barrings and stop envisioning racks and knives and Bela pleading with him to save her. To help her. He didn't, and at the time wouldn't even if he could.

Calming down Dean went and found himself something clean to wear before grabbing some cash and the keys to the Impala and heading out. It was then that he realized that not too far off was a crossroad sitting innocently. Concrete made it so it couldn't be dug into. The only thing that probably saved the idiots of this town now. Not so much beforehand and Dean wondered how many people summoned Demons here.

Forcing his feet to move he climbed into the car and drove to the nearest restaurant he could find. Charming waitresses was no longer a past time as it has been in the past before Purgatory, before the Leviathans. Now he was more anti-social with the public then he probably should be. A hunter needs some social abilities to get by, and Dean felt that he had enough.

The place was too clean and orderly. The smiles too friendly. The chatter too innocent for his taste. And he blamed it on the dream he had. So as soon as he was finished eating he went and found himself a bar, the most run down one he could find. And low and behold, bikes lined out in front.

He stopped momentarily and saw the clear signs of Hells Angels on the bikes. Stupid idiots should know that Hell has no angels. Dean would know. And Lucifer doesn't count. Dean invited himself into the bar. Everyone stopped and looked at him. The bartender looked too scrawny to be handling guys like this. But the tattoo's told him that he was part of them and probably had guns at his disposal to keep the peace.

Dean found himself an out of the way spot at the bar asking for the strongest that he had. A glimpse to the crowd and an unseen nod the bartender served Dean his drink. Why was he even here in the first place? Oh ya, because the restaurant left him feeling awkward at the friendliness. Which was weird in the least. He had to ask himself, what was wrong with him. He was all over the place and not acting as he should. How he normally acts. Taking a gulp of his drink he pushed the thought away. The place was one of those places that probably had average people's six senses screaming danger. To Dean it was a mild day, he's been to Hell and he's been to Heaven and he's been to Purgatory. This was nothing.

But he was only flesh and bone. Breakable. Able to die. Dean frowned and finished off his drink. Everyone slowly went back to doing what they were doing before Dean approached. They probably had an instinct of who's cop and who's not. Dean wouldn't be radiating cop unless he was on a case and needed to con information out of certain people who would know something. And even then, he wouldn't be radiating cop because of his mindset after Purgatory.

Sam shouldn't have left him! Cas shouldn't have let go! Bobby shouldn't have died! Benny, well Benny was Benny. The guy wasn't a good guy, he was a vampire and does what all vampires do. Feed. But he knows when to look after allies and to make allies. He was smarter then the average suck-head. Benny would care about Dean's state, but Dean couldn't bring himself to go to the vampire for help.

Too soon after Purgatory, and despite the times they crossed paths and helped each other much to Sam's shock wasn't enough to have Dean suck up who he is and his pride and go to him for help. Foolish, yes Dean knew that already. He should go to the vampire to help figure out what's wrong with him. Why did he feel so cornered and all over the place.

He was too sober. Dean gestured for another. The bartender was still wary of him but handed one over quicker this time. Dean gave a nod as thanks and proceeded to polish it off.

“What brings you here? To this little bar.” The bartender asked, finally breaking the ice and throwing Dean a rope. It was a pointless gesture, but Dean could do this. Talk. Be social. He wasn't in Purgatory anymore, and he was feeling a little isolated. Talking to an odd hallucination didn't count for company.

“Figured this place had something good to drink, and it's a little more up my alley.” Dean answered easily coupled with an easy shrug of the shoulders. His muscles felt tense, like he was just waiting to spring into a fight or into some kind of action. He wanted something to happen and since Sam left it was worse off.

“You with anyone?” The bartender asked. Dean understood the question wasn't about if he was with someone personally but with a rival gang or something stupid like that.

“No, just me myself and I. As it always seems to be.” Dean answered and couldn't help but flinch inwardly at the bitterness over the last part of his answer. He gave too much away, but that could fuel the instinct of the bartender into believing Dean. Hopefully. But in the same breath, Dean didn't care when he should.

Dean used to care, and still does. Too much. But he never lets people close if he had the choice for the matter. And you just had to look at his history to understand why. Everyone and everything he lets close and past those walls he placed up ends up getting killed or disappearing on him. Other times they just walk out. Like they had the right! They didn't! They never did!

Why...

Dean sat up straight at that realization. It sounded too personal. Too cutting. It left Dean feeling edgy and even more cornered. Looking around he could see that his shift in moods caught a few people's attention. Why was he here?! It was suddenly too crowded. To boxed in. Dean needed out. Dean needed something. Release?

“You okay.” The bartender asked, cautious mixed in with fake concern. Dean sneered.

What should he do with the situation he may have created or may have entered into it freely?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authoress Note: So needlessly said I had more then one person tell me they wanted him to be evil. So that's what's going to happen. And no it wasn't Sam bashing in this chapter, despite the fact that I actually don't like his character as much as several other characters in Supernatural, I can't bring myself to bash him. But he will and can make very human mistakes. And without realizing it he made another one. Whether or not he comes around and saves his brother is yet to be seen. 
> 
> Now, I asked a question in the previous chapter's A/N about pairings and whether or not you want them. I myself can go either way, but I always find it interesting to hear people's thoughts on that and there are times when those thoughts are tangled into my writing. So what do you think about the whole pairing thing? And with who?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Thank You Shout out to twinsarein from Archive of Our Own for helping me with characterization of Crowley :)

Crowley has been a demon for quite some time, he could tell you the exact years down to the day on earth and the year in Hell. He could tell you who he used to be, what he used to do. And he could tell you with certainty that he doesn't care about that, it was the past and the general public usually believes that what's in the past should stay there. And Crowley would wholeheartedly agree with you. 

Born as Fergus Roderick McLeod in 1661 Scotland meant one thing, Crowley was old. Very old. Fergus was a tailor who sold his soul for an extra three inches below the waist, in old Fergus's defence he was a bit drunk or else he would have asked for something more to go along with that. Ten years after the growth and the gained skill in using it, he died. Torn apart by a Hellhound. 

Was strapped to the rack and had his humanity carved away. Only thing that didn't get taken from him was a good idea of who he was, and even then he couldn't tell you everything. Just who he was, a few facts and incidents in his life and admit to loathing a son. 

It wasn't until some time later his skill was better matched to crossroads, and the unfortunate name calling. Lucky the Leprechaun was not your most clever of insults. In fact it was flat and boring. But as a demon, it annoyed him and only in the start did he react to it. After he started gaining a reputation and catching Lilith's attention did he retaliate properly. Patience was one of his strong suites. And he knows how to use it well. 

In the year 1947 he gained the name Crowley. It originally belonged to a man who made a deal with Crowley. As far as he knew, Alastair had little to no use for the man when he finally made it to the pit. In fact he used the whelp for training his newest student also the whelp of Azazel. A demoness with boring names. 

Not too long after that he took position of the King of the Crossroads, listening only to Lilith herself. Crazed broad but Crowley found her amusing to linger around when he wasn't busy buying souls for little gift packages here and there. And the odd wish or lottery ticket. He was good at what he did, and people liked to go to him for deals considering him fair. Or as fair as a demon could be. Crowley in turn liked to go after the big fish, they were the ones who had a lot of contacts and control and Crowley could use that to his benefit. 

The rest as they say is history from there on out. Deal making, collecting deals and then the apocalypse came around the bend and Crowley was too much of a thinker and dare he say leader, he read the signs well before they started to form and he wasn't a fool in the least. The apocalypse and all it's party favours ran like clockwork and Crowley played his hand carefully it just got easier for him as the cursed situation went on, especially when the Winchester's came into the picture and the chaos and stunts they pulled which led to his unavoidable demotion from King of the Crossroad to hunted and wanted dead. Thankfully easy management after a certain someone jumps into the cage like a hopeless idiotic hero led to the rank he now holds to save his own neck and gain more power. 

The King of Hell. 

He was the new devil in town, and he ran things differently then the old school ways that died with the high ranking demons and the big guy being locked back in his box. Not to be let out this time, Crowley won't allow that to happen. It only took him about 1oo years by Hell's time-frame to have things fixed up to his specifications and Crowley was pretty fussy about how things are run. 

The demons in his control are on tight leashes, and classed differently. It was rather difficult now to get up there in rank, done so to protect his own hide. There are demons who would want his head. It was a demons nature, and in that point he could see why Lucifer hated his kind. They were stupid foolish children. They obviously didn't know a good thing when they had it. So Crowley gave them clear lessons, which quelled any uprising. So far. 

How those who arrived were dealt with has changed. Crowley found it funny to have them stand in line to start with. As he told Castiel once, when the soul gets to the front of the line they end up at the end. That will go on for quite some time until the soul is annoyed or frustrated or stupidly weak and couldn't hack it anymore. Then Crowley would have them removed and brought to a specific room. 

He had rooms for everything. Each going down a hallway that would fit a certain area in sin and then each room in that hallway was for specific crimes and carefully categorized. The seven deadly sins, yes he was aware that the new age Pope added others, but really. The old man was just talking out of his ass according to Crowley. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle from where he sat behind his well built and sturdy desk. 

Each room was soundproof even when the door was opened, couldn't have the other line dwellers getting a glimpse of what's going to be their fate when they finally leave the line up. 

There was only one small aggravating problem with that. In these rooms Crowley had the old school workers who used to be Alastair's students. They were too inexperienced and not as loyal to Alastair as some of the now dead older more experienced students so that meant they were easily swayed into being loyal to Crowley enough to do his biding in those rooms. Those demons however did in fact lacked the skill, the souls don't break as badly as Crowley would have hoped. They get swapped around to ensure that soul breaks fully. 

Crowley would do it himself but he was busy as it was. And with the new plot of closing the doors and locking demons away for good, well that doesn't sit well with Crowley at all. In fact he ended up taking his frustrations out on some out of the way humans with poor choices in where to stop and when. Afterwards Crowley ended up having to deal with the clean up, the only upside in that was his pups got a fresh meal earlier then they would have if he had contracts that ripened and were ready to come around and pluck. 

No demon was foolish enough to push him on those days. The only upside was that he had the Word of God with him, kept safe and away from the Prophet Kevin Tran who along with his Mother disappeared. Which brought him to the new problems and confusions. 

Something shifted in his enemies stance and movements. They were erratic and foolishly out in the open and not moving. He sent demons to check up on each sibling that became a pain in his side. And to see if they could locate the Prophet who must have taken his word of advice seriously and got away from the Winchesters. If his demons couldn't find the Prophet then one or both of the Winchesters would know where the boy's location is. He probably is caring for his mother. 

Crowley grinned at that as he poured himself a drink of Craig Scotch that was aged about thirty years. A good age. Crowley was always fond of it's scent and taste. He could remember the torment he put Linda Tran through simply because she was one of the few woman who had the audacity to strike him. The others are dead. Too bad things ended up that way, he would have loved to play with her. And make her enjoy it. But you couldn't have everything and time was running short. 

Crowley heard a knock on the door, one of the demons were back already. Crowley checked the time. Too early, but slightly acceptable. But only slightly. Crowley granted them entrance with a wave of his hand and his office door clicking open. Clever demon knew that to be an invitation and took it. 

Two others entered as well. Crowley sat down behind his desk and leaned back. 

“Well?” Crowley demanded calmly as he brought his drink to his mouth, listening as the demon blubbered it's way through his report. Poor fool obviously didn't like having to report constantly, probably never had to give such lengthy and professional reports aside from the shortened versions their former superiors might have answered. Seriously, the way things were run before it's no wonder no demon wanted to stick around and were weak. 

This demon reported on the lack of ability to do it's task. It failed to find the Prophet and lost the trail in a backward town in Texas somewhere. The boy probably learnt how to hide himself from demons from either the Word of God or from the Winchester boys. He wouldn't doubt if either had a hand in the boy being annoyingly difficult in finding. Needlessly said, none of this helped Crowley's souring mood. And with it went the allure his drink had only seconds before. 

Setting the glass down the demon shifted in front of him. Crowley stopped himself from smiling at that, instead he made eye contact with the demon and enjoyed as it shifted in discomfort under his gaze. 

“So you're telling me that you didn't find the Prophet after looking for only half a day?” Crowley pushed calmly, keeping in mind the two different time periods going on. The one topside and then the time here in Hell. It didn't match up needlessly said, not that Crowley cared. It wasn't the point. 

“With the abilities the Prophet has, we're not able to track him down. He's not even using his own identity and hiding it.” The demon replied, the meat suite fashioned from a teenage boy who was clean and proper like the preference Crowley had for this mission. Better to have the boy face to face with something less frightening, not that it would help any considering it was a demon he sent after him. 

“Did you consider looking for the boys mother? She's not in a state to be thinking let alone hiding?” Crowley snapped. One would think they could at least come up with that much? He had a lot of smarter demons to work for him, yet today he was saddled with these morons. Crowley was glad that at least a few smarter ones were after the Winchester's. He couldn't have stupid demons going after two experienced hunters who liked to kill and exorcise demons for sport. The youngest figured out how to keep a demon from fleeing it's host. He'd be impressed if he wasn't so aggravated with them. 

“We did sir!” The other two blurted out, Crowley simply fixed them with an annoyed look that clearly told them to shut up this second. They did, but didn't stop fidgeting. These three were weak excuses for demons. Crowley already decided that they won't be leaving the room. 

Crowley smiled before he stood up and walked out from behind the desk and simply leaned against it while crossing his arms over his chest and crossing one leg over the other in a relaxed state as he stared at each and every one of them. The fools just realized how much trouble they were in. Backing away they pleaded, promised and tried to bribe him. Nothing would work because there was no one better then he was at the whole area of promises and bribes. Not to mention he was well versed in thinking on his feet and switching words around to get what he wanted, not to mention the fine print. 

There was sigils and markings on the walls of his office ensuring that no demon could leave their vessel. It was a double edged sword because it meant that Crowley couldn't either. But you don't get to where he is without taking some risk. And here no one could really touch him anymore, and the ones that could are either not interested with Hell and Crowley's workings or incapable due to their lack of being on Earth, Heaven or Hell. 

A pity, he would have loved to have the angel on his own personal rack that was adjacent to his office. But one cannot always have everything they wanted. He'll make due knowing that the angel's conscious and where he was currently calling home is doing just as much damage. Breaking an angel. There was reasons why angels weren't supposed to have emotions. It made them more human, and in turn more pron to being manipulated. 

The sound of snarling and growling came from behind the three foolish and soon to be dead demons. Two large grotesque and beautiful hounds entered. Demons may be useless at times, but not Crowley's hounds. With gleaming eyes and teeth they waited obediently for orders. Claws clicking on the ground as they shifted and paced as the doors closed behind them. 

Crowley picked up his glass again, the temptation for the drink finally returning along with the promise of a show. 

“Get the munchies boys.” Crowley ordered and instantly teeth were bared and nuzzles scrunched up in a show of aggression. The three demons didn't stand a chance, there skills weren't strong enough for two hellhounds who weigh about 200 pounds each and were pure muscle and bone and aggression. Hyped up past normal hounds. Crowley bred them himself, after all he preferred the best of the best whether that was clothing, drinks, deals or hellhounds. And to get the best sometimes you had to do it yourself. 

Despite feeling better about the failure three now kindly deceased demons managed, it still didn't change the fact that they failed to locate one human who was by many counts needed in order to just the opposite of what the Winchesters were or are planning when it comes to those useful gates between Hell and everything Crowley would need to build a more powerful empire now that Purgatory was out of the question. A pity really, but one can't have everything. 

Pouring a second glass he saluted his hounds who rumbled their satisfaction at having fresh blood in their mouths and flesh in their belly's. He was hoping that all of his demons didn't return with failed attempts. If they made it back at all, the Winchesters were notorious at this point for killing or exorcising demons with a frenzy. It made them more of a threat then other hunters. Because other hunters, this was a job but to the Winchester's this was a lifestyle. 

Well, for one it was. The other one he wasn't entirely sure considering he hasn't moved from his chosen location for a few days now. And lately that was uncommon for them. Not unexpected though, considering they had Crowley and his demons on their tail for either their lives or their heads. Whichever came first. 

It didn't take away the fact though that despite everything from then to now, he found them amusing. The oldest was easier to play around with and handy to manipulate so long as you had the younger brother. They came as a set usually. It helped dealing with them when they were pretty to look at during that stressful time of the apocalypse. The older was more to his size preferences in males, the younger brothers size simply was used for amusement. And Crowley was amused by the height. 

If Crowley was in his true form, they'd be equal in heights simply because in Hell one does not have a physical representation of yourself, more like an emotional and a memory in a sense. Your mind, what your soul remembers and draws forth for what you look at and what you see or others see is all in your mind and memory. But it all feels real, because mind or not you actually could touch someone, cut them, hurt them, break them and mold them. The more humanity you have, the more human you look. The less, the more likely you are to look less human. There always will be a human look to you, after all demons were at one time human themselves. It all depends on ones mind. And don't get Crowley going on power and what that was all about. 

Moving back to his chair with a shift and a flick his suite immaculate again and the bloodstains that splattered onto him was missing. The room however was left as is mainly as a warning for failure. Crowley despite his good mood was not entirely forgiving of failure. Never was. 

By the time the blood was dried and his pups were sleeping soundly curled together giving a false show of harmlessness the next knock on his office came. Gaining snarls from his hounds who were instantly alert. Crowley signalled them to stand down with one shift of his hand before the door clicked open. The demons noted the dead bodies with a mixture of cold uncaring and wariness. They were more concerned for their own necks then the demons who died. 

These ones were more experienced in reporting to Crowley, they didn't need a vocal order to start speaking. Instead they professionally reported what they found out about the youngest Winchester. And Crowley couldn't help but laugh at the information he was gaining. The grown soft boy decided to cut his loses and leave Dean Winchester. Oh how the oldest must be rolling around in anger at the betrayal that he must be feeling. It would be entertaining to watch! And maybe use in some way. And a situation could be forming that would be most beneficial for him in the long run. He had to play his cards right though, one foolish move would cost either his life, the Winchester's life which wasn't entirely a concern at the moment or he could suffer a great embarrassment. And that could not be tolerated. 

To make things more entertaining, Sam Winchester was with a woman and had a dog. How cliche. Really, it wasn't what Crowley would consider really appropriate for any situation, not that he was against that sort of thing but someone with that history should really consider something a bit different. Though even Crowley could see that the boy changed plenty during their meetings after Kevin escaped him. There wasn't nearly as much darkness in him anymore, almost like the demon blood was no longer a factor in his genetic make up and mindset. Crowley would like to examine his soul if the boy really was becoming more pure, and dare he say redeemed? 

“Keep an eye on him boys, but don't get too close or allow him to catch sight of you. If he does, report back to me.” Crowley ordered the demons who reported at least some good news, not to mention the fact that it was best to just keep an eye on him to make sure he stays playing house. And to see what else these demons could find out about the youngest brother's situation. It's never a good thing to truly enter a situation without having most or all of the cards. And Crowley was currently card gathering to be fully prepared for this shift in mindsets and movements on the board. 

The demons left, not wanting to stick around more then they had to. Crowley simply sat there thinking over the new situation that was forming. Thinking about what he would want with it, what he could do with it. And what to do about the Winchester brothers. There's no question in the fact that he can't leave them be, that was foolish and stupid. Surely history shows what happens when you take them for-granted and underestimate them. And most important, how can this new situation benefit him? 

Two hours after the second official report and order was given the third and final set of demons came back. The difference was that one demon was missing and the other two looked like they both had to flee and fight. 

“What happened to you two?” Crowley demanded, uncaring about them personally just the requirements of knowing what happened and if they managed to screw up and the oldest now knows that demons were on his trail. One of two things could possibly happen. Dean won't do anything, but he'll be on guard and harder to take care of. Or he'll summon Crowley himself. The Winchesters were foolishly known to doing the latter. 

“Dean Winchester happened... And a bar fight.” The smallest demon answered, words steady and clearly annoyed but not at Crowley for demanding the answer. He would be a fool if that was the case. 

The larger of the two picked it up from there, giving full explanations of what happened. Dean Winchester was travelling alone and being reckless. Since Purgatory that wasn't a common theme, the boy was more keen on being wary of everything and letting nothing escape his attention. So what changed? He looked to the smaller demon for answers, this one was in the presence of Alastair during those ten years. He would have a vague idea. So he would be able to give Crowley an answer, he knows Dean Winchester's alter ego well enough. 

Taking the cue the demon calmly said,  
“He's changed from when I last saw him before he disappeared with the angel. He acted as though he was cornered, perhaps the lack of something in the bar started to rattle him in not so friendly ways. I can't be sure... Well, the only way I can give you an explanation sir is if I were to say that he's like he was then. Not near the end, but when I first met him after he got off the rack sir.” The demon shrugged. 

That was unexpected, and possibly better then he could hope for. Perhaps there was a way he could salvage this entire situation and the missing Prophet after all. 

This was something Crowley had to investigate himself. So with a sharp dismissal Crowley simply stood up relocated to the area just outside of the town he was informed that Dean Winchester was in currently. A small town, easy preyed on by the Supernatural for it's secluded nature from the world's hustle and bustle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Crowley's very own chapter. He'll be crossing paths with Dean within the next chapter. 
> 
> The pairing as you would have figured out by now is Crowley/Dean Winchester because believe it or not that is one of my favorite pairings. And FireChildSlytherin5 for helping me figure out what pairing to have by making suggestions for me to file through to exclude or consider. 
> 
> And hey, you can never have enough Crowley/Dean Winchester stories :)
> 
> There will be hinted/and mentioned past Castiel/Dean Winchester for NefariousOne and others who like Destiel (myself included). 
> 
> Thank you so far for reading this story :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout out Thank You to "Twinsarein" for making sure Crowley is Crowley, luckily I managed to get him to be Crowley :)

From the moment Crowley appeared on the outskirts of the town he immediately appreciated the secluded nature of the small homey town. It would naturally make dealing easier when one wanted to cut to the start of the line for about ten years, a reasonable time limit. This was the sort of town he started on, before he grew in reputation and power and took a preference to big fish and the real important deal makers. 

He was outvoted on striking a deal with Dean Winchester, first because Crowley is a fair demon by nature and second Lilith had plans for him that even Crowley wasn't aware of at the time. If he did he would have interfered through the back channels because of the mess it made. But there was no reason to dwell on should have's and didn't do. 

He was here on a mission that could do one of two things, make life easier for Crowley or create another mess thanks to the Winchester that he would have to clean up. 

Before he left and dismissed the two remaining demons he sent after Dean Winchester for a recon mission only, he gained a firm location and let their own injuries be the reminder of their stupidity. He would first check the bar scene first. After all he wanted to see the last remaining evidence of the altercations that led to such beliefs. 

The small towns underpaid officer was there with the mortician who was more then ready to take the body that was already loaded in the van away. Crowley could tell where the impala was parked as he wondered through the crime scene undetected thanks to his own abilities. The blood has yet to be cleaned and broken glass was an indication that a window was broken either before the fight or during. Crowley couldn't be sure if it belonged to Dean's vehicle of choice. 

Disregarding it at the moment he carried on with the small amounts of blood found where someone was injured but not lethally. Dipping his finger into it he tasted it to see if he could identify whether or not it was human. Beyond that he wouldn't be able to tell you. 

Crowley casually entered the van and waited. Crossing his legs he watched as the tired looking man climb into the drivers seat complaining about life problems and the late night call. Guess him and the misses were having marriage problems. Crowley could fix that with a price, but he wasn't here to wheel and deal with overweight meat suites who's souls were already destined to come into his possession regardless of deals or not. 

The drive took thirty minutes and another twenty to unload the body and prep him for the autopsy. Crowley would have done it himself but he was currently letting everyone else do the heavy lifting and discovering things Crowley would be able to discover in half the time. He spent a lifetime learning the best ways to injure and kill and torment. He was a demon after all. Trained in all arts. 

The body was stripped naked and a modest little facecloth covering the deceased body's crotch area. Crowley sneered at the sign of modesty for a corpse, surely it didn't matter now because this was just an empty shell. The soul and demon were long since gone. 

Still Crowley waited until water sprayed the body down leaving the injuries clean and easily spotted. Bruises, and the signs of a vessel being well worn. Young demons these days really didn't know how to make their vessel last. But that was hardly the concern at the moment, so long as the job was done. Scanning the stab wounds and the long cut across the belly with avid fascination. 

These hits were designed to hurt, vessel or not the demon would be feeling them. Hurting because of them and probably angered enough to stay in the fight. Crowley waited until the back was turned before he poked his finger into one of the wounds to see how deep the wound went down. The shoulder wound only half a finger. The stomach wound he went right down to the knuckle which was easy to see with how the belly was split open. The same with the chest wound right to the heart, deep enough to slice into the heart. 

Crowley couldn't clean his hands as he backed off and watched the doctor get confused by the poked signs on the corpse. Shrugging because of a tired mind the autopsy carried on to tell Crowley what he already knows. Still he stuck around and watched because he was patient and knew how to observe to ensure that you have every detail, that was a required trait for him and came especially in handy in his line of work. 

It wouldn't help you to know only half the story when making deals. Still, even Crowley couldn't be perfect but he wasn't foolish and ready to make novice mistakes just to get a deal. 

Crowley left before the body was put away, the autopsy was done and the heart was holding on by it's own skin in order to remain as close to whole as it could. An angry hit. That could be easily explained with the fact that Dean hates demons, hates working with them and for them. So that clearly meant it was a deeply felt pleasure to piss the Winchester off by forcing his hand. He got a good laugh out of it. 

Castiel was not as amused. But the foolish angel had to learn to loosen up, if he did then maybe they wouldn't have gotten off on the wrong foot. But then again, angel and demon. Two beings that were never meant to work together, only against or for each other. And usually it's demons being manhandled by those pompous bastards to work for them. 

But no longer. Crowley was no fool and there was no fallen angel calling the shots anymore. In or out of his cage. Crowley was the big boss and has every intention of either burning the gates of Heaven closed to angels coming out or going home. Or make sure things run like clockwork as they have been before the whole apocalypse fiasco. Whichever served to benefit Crowley first. By the time decisions had to be made came, he would have had another plan in the works. Had to. 

Survival was the most important task at hand, and his survival at that. 

Still it would be a pleasing experience to know that angels could never interfere. There precious Heaven would still exist but only to hold rejects he couldn't get a hold of for some reason or another. Maybe send Sam there and keep Dean Winchester's soul in Hell. That would drive them both nuts knowing the other is somewhere they couldn't reach. After all no matter how angry they were at each other, they were brothers and foolishly obsessed with each other in some way or another. 

Crowley spent the rest of the night locating Dean Winchester's current location. It didn't take long, all he had to do was look for the impala and noticed it's intact condition. The broken glass didn't belong to the vehicle. He walked around it for a moment before following the drops of blood to room 01 and looked for a window to look in. He could already see salt spread seamlessly across the windowsill. This defiantly was a hunter's room. It was probably well protected. 

Crowley looked across from the hotel and noticed the small cafe that probably made most if it's business off the towns people and whomever stayed at this hotel. Enough business to keep running while not enough to expand further. Crowley casually approached it, read the signs taped to the entrance of the cafe. 

Mostly about missing cats that probably got caught or eaten by local wildlife. Either that or they had a up and coming psychopath. Not that he cared much, just passing the time. It would be a half an hour yet for the cafe to open but a small gas station was open. 

Before he even reached the gas station he made sure he could be seen. No use making people think a ghost was walking around even though that might promise a temporary source of amusement, Crowley was sure he could find better entertainment elsewhere. 

Picking up a newspaper and looking around for whatever else that could be useful to him. Gas stations weren't usually known for high quality products that could satisfy Crowley. He liked his material things to be in the high quality value and something he could view himself using. 

Approaching the teller he was already unimpressed by the pimply adolescent half asleep behind it. Crowley stood there for a moment before clearing his throat impatiently, startling the human behind the desk who literally jumped and noticed Crowley. Looked for a vehicle and then focusing the blurry tired attention on Crowley. A friendly smile was offered and was not returned. Crowley wasn't above being friendly but the unimpressed state he finds himself in finds it difficult when he would much rather be elsewhere. 

Still he was a professional and above all else a business man, he collected himself and offered a halfhearted smile back. 

“Sorry... Had to work double shift.” the kid who's name tag says Matthew. 

“That's quite alright.” Crowley said pleasantly, however he knew full well it was the opposite. The little pimple was lying to him and should really be thanking Crowley for being allowed to live despite the obvious lie thanks to the smells of adolescent rebellion on his breath. Crowley could nearly taste the sin steadily forming on the boy. 

Crowley gave the correct amount of change and took the newspaper and left before the boy could ask any foolish questions that just might lead to him having his throat snapped, something Crowley wasn't above doing. In fact it was a common theme with him when he needed to make a fast kill here and there. Or a threat and warning like he did with Kevin Tran's girlfriend in full view of the boy and the Winchesters. 

It probably didn't affect Dean Winchester as much as the other two, they weren't as used to death as Dean was from his time in Purgatory. Still, annoying the pest had to escape but somehow Crowley knows he could make use of the new developments. He was resourceful enough. 

Crowley took a quick stroll around the hotel to see if there was no ways to for the Winchester to slip away before Crowley gets to make any decisions by the looks of Dean. By the time he got back to the small cafe they were opening up. Crowley picked a spot that was tucked near the entrance and not easily viewable from the outside. Crowley still had full view of the hotel and the exit to the parking lot. 

The young waitress looked surprised at having a customer so soon if the soft 'oh' she gave was any indication. She was by far more pleasant then the little pimple back at the gas station. She immediately jumped at his service, Crowley only asked for a coffee and she suggested to try their breakfast muffins at least, she must be one of those types of people who believe people should eat in the morning. Odd little thing, pure as a dove which in itself was rare. 

He accepted and thanked her, no need to be rude. 

The other waitresses were concerned with is presence, their fight or flight response was probably kicking in because they had more sin on them and thus more experience in telling when a dangerous entity was in their presence. The girl who was currently serving him was new to the big bad world, probably kept in a protective bubble by her parents. She had no life experience, and Crowley under certain situations would have no problem educating her. But at the moment all he wanted was the coffee and muffin that smelt fresh and was still hot. 

He had bigger fish to tend to as it was. 

It turned out the coffee and muffin actually tasted good, better then what he expected in such a secluded town. He would have to remember this place in case he ever decided to come back for the coffee or muffin. The same little pure dove came back and asked if he wanted a refill. 

“Just coffee, tell me. Did a man come in here yesterday at some point, short hair and green eyes. Drives that Chevy impala parked in the hotel's parking lot?” Crowley asked picking a tone best used for conversations in a disarming manner while offering his coffee cup and empty plate for her to take away. 

She stood up for a moment thinking after she refilled his cup. 

“Well, he did last night around 5:30. He seemed rather tense and as time went buy just seemed to get more agitated. It was like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop and something to happen. I seen the same behaviour in my Dad who was a soldier, he's now on disability. But ya, he came here. Why?” She answered, and Crowley was pleased that she gave an accurate account of what she saw and didn't carry on like some. 

“Just curious, he and I have history love. I'm just checking up on him.” Crowley said as he turned his attention back to the window and she took the cue and left. Probably drawing different conclusions in her mind, not that it mattered to him. Crowley had better things to deal with and concern himself with then the musings of a girl who has yet to fully grow into her bra. 

Sipping at his coffee he watched the time. It wasn't until nine in the morning that Dean emerged from his hotel room, bag in hand and not wasting any time. With the bag tossed into the back seat Dean climbed into the driver seat. His posture was stiff and he was coming across as agitated and probably shame wracked his body by the body signals Crowley was picking up. And he could already tell you that it wasn't because of the death of the demon. 

It could very well be for the reason that was reported to Crowley by the demon who once knew Dean in Hell. The darkness in the boy, the state of mind he was in could very well match the state of mind he possessed when he first climbed off the rack after thirty years. Crowley was present for bits and pieces of it, watching as some other demons did. Everyone wanted to know what Alastair would do next, they may have feared the old demon but there was no question that they admired his skills. 

And some of the things he has done to Dean Winchester was remarkable in it's horrid grotesque beauty. And Alastair was creative, far more then he should have been. Crowley remembered the helpless and pained screams and pleas. Like music. Crowley never stuck around for long though, he had his own line of work to do and handle. And in the world of deal making there was never a shortage of work to do. 

As soon as the impala was out of sight and heading down the road Crowley stood up, putting money on the table to pay for what he had. He wasn't the type to not pay up, he was a business man and this was a business. So he could halfheartedly show a bit of care no matter how false that care was. It helped that money was nothing to him, it was something he could have in his possession whenever he needed it without delay. Exiting the cafe Crowley walked down the street until he found a spot that was tucked out of the way and in people's blind spot before using his ability to simply teleport himself to wherever he needed or wanted to go. 

It wasn't flashy or fancy like an angel's ability or anyone else for that matter. But it served Crowley perfectly, who needed to make a sound wherever you went? Reappearing somewhere down the road leading out of town and casually waited for Dean to drive by, Crowley stood in full view. Making sure Dean would see him clearly. In fact, Crowley was standing at the side of the road and the green back drop of property made his black dress code stick out and noticeable. At least to a hunter who would be looking. 

With a satisfied smile Crowley heard the rumbling sound of the impala coming his way. He recognized it's sound from the times he had to ride in the old smelly thing. He wasn't impressed by the vehicle but kept his opinions to himself, no need to anger your temporary allies over something foolish like a car. Not when Crowley could get what he needed from them with their willingness. 

The second he made eye contact with the hunter, Crowley couldn't help himself. Well he could but he didn't want to at the moment as he took one hand out of his pocket and gave a halfhearted wave. Dean didn't look too surprised to see Crowley, but there was a clear look of annoyance. Which would be returned if the boy didn't angrily park at the side of the road not even a few feet away from where Crowley was standing. 

Crowley knew the boy would stop, why wouldn't he? He liked danger and liked to poke at dangerous things. 

Crowley casually walked towards the car and noted that Dean didn't exit the car, so Crowley moved to the passengers side and climbed in. Uncaring that he had the Colt pressed to his temple. Crowley would have been disappointed if Dean just accepted Crowley's presence. 

There was no pleasant greetings between the two of them. Just Dean's crass demand of,   
“What the fuck do you want Crowley!” There was no ounce of respect in the boy's tone and Crowley did feel a temptation to beat some respect into him. But he restrained himself and offered a friendly smile instead. Well, as friendly as one like himself could manage. 

Crowley made eye contact with the Winchester as the gun started to heat up enough for Dean to have to drop it. Crowley snatched it as quickly as one could in the small quarters of a vehicle. He couldn't have himself being shot so soon. And once the only weapon he knows Dean has on him is in safe hands Crowley casually made himself comfortable. All the while Dean was bristling in anger. Crowley smiled pleasantly. 

Studying what he see's, and Crowley could see a lot with just by looking into their eyes. It was a useful tool as a crossroad demon and as the former King of the Crossroads he got pretty good at it. Body language came next, then the person themselves start speaking so Crowley would listen to speech pattern and look for deception. 

And he could already see why the demon assumed possibly rightfully so that Dean was changing or regressing. It all depended on who you asked. There was a darkening edge just buried in those expressive eyes. Useful. All the boy needed was a firm hand in guidance. And last time he had Alastair, unfortunately for the poor boy his former master wasn't alive to direct the boy through these periods. 

Now Crowley was fully aware that the darkness he's caught sight of could be cleaned away and the boy could become the same usual pain in the ass he has been since Crowley came into contact with him back when he returned the Colt. But that is if someone Dean cares about comes to his rescue, save him from the big bad wolves and his own personal demons. 

Dean was glaring and opening his mouth ready to demand once more in a possibly more disrespectful manner. Crowley wouldn't appreciate that, he could only tolerate so much disrespect and stupidity at once. And the boy has a habit of pushing Crowley easily. But he better not let the boy know that. 

“There's a lot of things I want.” Crowley answered, flashing a rather suggestive grin along with it. Dean's expression darkened into a rather venomous look. If Crowley wasn't already amused he'd be impressed the boy could pull off such a look. 

“Cut the bullshit, why are you here!” Dean snarled out as he seemed to be looking for something. Probably another weapon. And it looked like he was fully prepared to start trying to exorcise Crowley from his vessel. Crowley was ready to react to that as well, a hard grip on the boy's throat would stop any talk. Hopefully he won't have to do that so soon. 

Crowley had choices now, he could pick any one reason why he was here. One he could easily use any one of them and it would be the truth. However the truth doesn't always get you what you want, and although he would still be using it he had to pick which truth would be the most useful. 

To ask for Kevin Tran's location wouldn't be entirely wise. Darkness brewing or not, the boy would hardly give up some innocent snot nosed kid. And his mother. Dean had family issues so he sympathized easily enough. 

To speak of the darkness he see's in Dean Winchester's all too telling eyes. That would start a fight and have the Winchester's neck snapped or some other injury as a retaliation, Crowley may not use sadism or physical harm as a first response like other demons but he wasn't above it. He like others liked a good torture session and kill. 

To figure out what has the Winchester boys angry with each other and separated. But the moose was a bit of a sore subject to use and again would start a fight. 

“Drive.” Crowley countered, getting comfortable and looking a head. Not bothering to hide his smugness because he knows he could get his way, Dean knows he can't do a thing about Crowley's presence. They both were at an impasse, well a chosen one. 

Ten minutes later the impala pulls off of the side of the road and Crowley was satisfied with watching the tree's go by for another fifteen minutes. The sounds of angry huffs and curses was Crowley's favorite brand of music at the moment. Crowley was thinking things over, and figuring out what to do with this situation so that it could benefit him in the end. 

As things always does with careful management. 

“Pull off onto that road, I have a house there. A modest one story little hideaway. Not as extravagant as my usual choices. But I think you and I have things we have to discuss.” Crowley settled on, better to put himself in a position of complete control. Or at least familiar territory rather then a small car with an angry Winchester who probably feels like he has nothing to lose at the moment and so won't have the same things holding him back as he used to. 

For a moment he didn't think Dean would listen, the boy had his own mind and was awfully stubborn about it. But during the Apocalypse he was the easiest one to deal with. And even when the moose had no soul the elder brother was still the easiest to handle. But the car pulled in and drove until it pulled to an stop. Engine turning off and Dean stiffening up in a defensive manner. 

Crowley of course taunted him and beckoned him into the house. It took a total of five minutes of banter to get Dean to listen. Crowley was rather pleased with himself. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Crowley offered, it was helpful to be a good host. But the stubborn idiot wouldn't have it that way and glared at him. Crowley let out an annoyed sigh as he poured himself a glass of his favorite drink. 

“I want to know what this is about.” Dean snarled, obviously fed up and annoyed. 

“I'm sure.” Crowley acknowledged as he sat down in a comfy chair in front of the fireplace. Dean reluctantly sat down in the other. Crowley decided to take a moment and let his eyes wonder over the boy. Always nice to have something pretty to look at while you wheel and deal. 

Where to start? And more importantly, where to start probing in order to get things that he wanted, and who knows maybe he could get himself a fancy toy too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we get to see more interaction between Crowley and Dean. Which is always good to have :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A major thank you to "Twinsarein" for helping me keep Crowley right.

Dean couldn't bring himself to even consider for a second to relax on the chair even though he had to grudgingly admit that it was probably one of the most comfortable chairs he sat on in awhile. All the good spots to sit down burnt with Bobby's house. Dean frowned slightly, he couldn't allow himself to think about that. Not when he's sitting in the presence of enemy number one. 

The King of Hell himself, Crowley. 

So far he gained no answers in what the demon king wanted. 

“You look troubled.” Crowley pointed out, Dean couldn't help but glare at him. Consequences be damned. Crowley did the opposite of what he expected, he just looked amused at the lack of respect and co-operation. Dean could remember that Alastair would have cut him down in a second. Can't have disrespectful subjects or students. 

But then again Crowley wasn't like Alastair. They both had cruel edges to them, but Crowley didn't showcase what he does for a living. Instead he wheels and deals and uses common demonic tactics afterwards if plan a doesn't work out. And it doesn't always work out, so next up is neck snapping and torture. 

An exaggerated sigh and Dean frowned further. 

“What do you want Crowley!” Dean snapped and picked up the irritation in Crowley, the guy really doesn't like people demanding things from him. Especially answers and in his own home. If Dean wasn't so, wrong at the moment he would almost sympathize. He didn't like people demanding things from him in the Impala. 

The irritation faded only to be replaced with a conniving smile that showcased white teeth. Smiles like that usually means that Crowley was already stalking things in his favour, something Dean knows he does all the time with every deal. Dean stiffened further as he watched Crowley cautiously. 

He wasn't in a position to really help himself even if he wanted to. Still that wouldn't stop Dean from fighting, he's fought in worse situations. Purgatory for example. All he ever did was fight there, and found himself hardened in ways he didn't think possible after Hell and his life. 

“You have a choice love. Have a conversation with me, and speak the truth to whatever is asked and I will do the same. Or, we can make a deal.” Crowley suggested, his tone taking on a darker velvet that comes with setting the pieces on the board of deal making. 

None of that took away from the fact that Dean felt angry and cornered again. Something in him wanted to push back in defiance. Pick option C rather then the two he was given. He did not want to make a deal, he's discovered the hard way that deals are something you don't walk away from without damage. No matter what happened in his life to try to get away from deals it didn't work. Bobby managed to get away, but at a price. 

They lost sight of Crowley's bones. There's only two things that could kill him now, the Colt and Ruby's knife. And he couldn't have either on him. The Colt was either on Crowley's person or locked up somewhere. And Ruby's knife couldn't have been brought in, it was tucked away in the Impala. Safe and sound. For now. 

Dean glared at the fire for a moment, trying his hardest to ignore the fact that he was being stared at. The smug bastard was probably enjoying the entire situation. 

“Fine... Let's talk.” Dean managed to say evenly, no yelling and no snarling. It didn't mean he was okay with it. 

“There's a catch. Nothing about business. Pleasure only. Personal life, past and present. So this thing about locations could be left out.” Crowley added calmly, probably knowing that he's pushing Dean's buttons at the moment. The damned demon seemed to enjoy doing that because he's done that ever since they met. It only got worse the longer he knew Crowley. 

Dean snarled inwardly, he would have asked what Crowley wanted as part of the conversation. But that would be considered business. 

“Fine!” Dean snapped, angry at the moment like usual. If he wasn't drunk and sinking in his own mind and angst filled thoughts he was angry. Always angry. Like something in him snapped, and that made him vulnerable. He knows this, and yet here he was in the worst place on Earth to be when vulnerable. This was not the time for Sam to be running off, Dean may not have said anything but he needed someone there to keep his head above water. 

Someone to look after. 

But he was left again, abandoned. And anger took over, if Sam thought his anger problems were an issue back then. Dean could rival that. He pushed it down, focus was needed here. Focus. 

“Wonderful.” Crowley honestly did sound delighted. Probably was. Dean fought hard to not care, but he was annoyed. And with his moods and things in his life it was hard to keep a lid on his emotions. He used to be able to push things down and move on. 

Dean did try to come up with something to start this farce of a conversation, but he wasn't in a mood to really ask half the questions he came up with since he first met Crowley. And after he figured out who Crowley used to be. A Scottish man who if it was the truth sold his soul for something so stupid as an extra three inches below the waist. 

He had to come up with something! So he decided to go with whatever came out of his mouth first and work with that. He wasn't stupid in strategies much to popular belief with his enemies. In fact he was pretty good at it, and when in a hunt he knows he could be pretty vicious when needed. 

“Why do you call yourself Crowley?” Dean asked and much to his annoyance Crowley just let out a laugh. Almost like he was pleased that Dean asked that sort of question. Dean regretted going along with anything Crowley suggested. 

“Why I call myself Crowley, hm? That's simple, I liked the name. It originally belonged to a man born about 1875 called Aleister Crowley. You'll find songs sung about the man. He was an occultist among other things. He made a deal with me, back when I was gaining power but not yet the King of the Crossroads. When I came to collect not only did I take his soul, but his name as well. And so I became known as Crowley.” Crowley answered as he took another sip of his drink. Dean thought over what he heard. Needlessly said though, it was weird to have Crowley seemingly so willing to converse about things that could possibly be used against him. How he could use this information was still beyond him, there was no spell that could destroy the demon with the use of a stolen name. 

If anything, he seemed rather proud of the situation at hand, Dean just scowled and cursed inwardly. He knows for a fact that he might or most likely will regret this. This was so out of the park for his usual decision making. Dean knows this, but feels powerless to change it. A small part of him wishes that he had someone here to bail him out or at least distract everything from whatever is going on. 

Hell, he wished Cas was here. 

“You going to ask a question or is it, interrogate Crowley day?” Dean forced out, cursing himself for putting the chance out there for Crowley to do some digging without sharp objects. The deal was to not lie, and so far it seemed like Crowley was playing by the rules. Did that mean Dean had to as well? 

He wondered if it was too late to escape or attack Crowley, no matter the cost? 

“I believe you're right, thankfully I have just the question I wanted to ask you for a while now. Why didn't you kill Meg when you had a chance too? Yes I'm fully aware she was babysitting your pet angel, but that is one small good task against how many wrong doings she personally has done to you and your family.” Crowley asked calmly as he took a sip of his drink while scrutinizing Dean. Something Dean didn't take too kindly to as he glowered back. 

Of all questions to ask. Still Dean was half surprised at the neutral state of the question, it wasn't about his past or his memories. Just a decision wise question. Starting off safe. Now the question was, how was he going to answer that without giving away too much and without lying. It wasn't an easy task to do considering the history topside and in Hell. They were fellow students you could say, they shared the same homeroom teacher. 

She wanted him on her rack, but Alastair had other idea's. Dean earned a rack of his own, and they were taught side by side. A rivalry started between them, a kinship born in hatred. If it even was possible. 

“Never got around to it... I guess. During the apocalypse, the sides were clearly drawn so it was easier to be willing to point a gun and want to pull the trigger and have the intention of taking her life. Well, you could see how well that worked out... Jo died, she lived. The colt was useless against your kind's creator. Afterwards, didn't see her until she was strapped to one of your adaptions to the rack. And ya, she became useful.” Dean explained, a shrug to accompany his words. 

“I think it's a bit more then that love, but that's okay we can touch on the topic of little Meg later.” Crowley instantly said, like he was practically waiting to pounce on any inconsistency to what Dean was saying. He probably also knows the history between himself and Meg. He probably had her tortured or tortured her himself and Dean could honestly say that he couldn't care less about that fact. 

Crowley was obviously waiting for Dean to continue with the conversation by taking up his chance of asking a question. 

Dean hated himself for the next question, but this was a conversation of truths might as well put some of the cards on the table now rather then stumble in the dark for them later on. Not that he knows how to use any of this and the idea of truth coming from a demon was a tough pill to swallow to say the least. 

“How'd you become a crossroads demon...” Dean asked and hated how Crowley seemed even more pleased. He was getting far more enjoyment out of this situation then Dean wanted him to. He so badly wished he had Ruby's knife or the Colt right now. He so badly wanted to do... 

Something he normally doesn't do... Or...

Something horrible to, to get ride of that smugness. 

He didn't know what he wanted all in all. 

“Aren't you a curious one, most people don't want to know little tidbit information about us humble demons.” Crowley mocked and Dean couldn't help but grit his teeth at that. Dean had to consciously remind himself to loosen his fists as he shifted angrily and glaring directly at Crowley, he was never one to back away or submit so easily. 

On after thirty years of torture did he start to submit, but even then he still had some snark and bite to his personality. Something that amused his former master. Something Alastair enjoyed about him. He was the finest student according to that demon. 

“You said, nothing about business. You said only about personal life, past or present.” Dean growled out, not taking kindly to the mocking. He cursed Crowley. 

Crowley showed some annoyance, though Dean figures it would be more then that but Crowley was good at keeping a lid on what's going on inside that head of his. Too good at it. 

“Or course I remember that I said that. I don't forget anything in my negotiations because everything comes down to the details. Now, you asked why I became a crossroads demon. Fine, I'll tell you. But first, I have to quickly let you know that every demon has a specific skill set. You have your Seven Deadly Sins, already dead thanks to you Winchesters and the double agent Ruby. Their skill sets are for those sins and they did well in it, not as good as the ones lets say about a hundred or so years ago topside. But they did well. Then you have your foot soldiers, the black eyed Demons. You have your fallen Angels, rarities they are. Yellow Eyes...” Crowley calmly explained, setting his glass down and folding his hands on his lap only to have Dean interrupt him with an angry growl of,   
“They're fallen angels!” 

“Well yes, what did you think they were? Demon eyes cover most if not all of the eye's surface. Yellow covers the pupil only. Don't interrupt me again.” Crowley calmly said, though the last bit sounded colder then the rest. He obviously didn't like people interrupting him, and Dean figured if Crowley had his way Dean would be paying for it. If he didn't have ulterior reasons to keep Dean whole. 

Still the idea of Azazel being a fallen angel felt like another hit to him personally. It wasn't demons screwing around with his family from day one, it was the angels. The demons were just, just tools who both were used against them and enjoyed harming them! Dean didn't know what to think. In fact if he wasn't careful he'd probably lose it right now. 

“Can I continue?” Crowley asked, sounding condescendingly sarcastic obviously enjoying Dean's situation at the moment, he didn't even realize that he gazed off into the fire while gripping the armrests to anchor himself down. His mind called for Castiel despite knowing that the angel won't answer anymore. Dean nodded to Crowley, he could continue. Dean could have sworn he heard a happy 'excellent' coming from Crowley. He could have been mistaken. 

“Well as I was saying, Yellow Eyes were Fallen Angels though they're a rare breed. White eyes as you know are the most powerful demons, well used to be. Lilith was designed to be killed by Sam. I'm shocked though that Alastair was killed off so easily, he's the only demon who could stand up to a low ranking angel and kick ass. Your friend Castiel could testify to that. Then you of course have the red eyed demons. Crossroad demons, the eye colour I kept. The eye colour love is to only show which area of expertise you fall into. But that's about it. 

Now, as for why I became a Crossroad demon. I was simply cut out for it. Originally in the start I had black eyes until I grew into my position as a Crossroads demon. I was originally trained to torture souls, not by Alastair but he was supervising the entire training progress. Creepy demon he was, liked Hell better then Earth and that Dean was a bad trait because it meant he was bad news for any demon, human or anything else who fell onto his rack or into his attention. While no one was looking, I would wheel and deal with the souls on my training rack you could say. I was eventually caught, and was going to be punished by Alastair himself. A notion I was rightfully afraid of. Lilith bless her unholy and nonexistent soul decided she saw something she enjoyed and so I became a Crossroads demon. 

And I was bloody good at my job. I grew from there to the position of King of the Crossroads. And that is pretty much it.” Crowley explained, Dean noted the wholeheartedly amused grin playing on the demons face. Probably in some kind of enjoyment over his own explanation. 

Dean had to fight a few times to not glare at him at mentioning Castiel's name and Alastair's name. Dean was sure he was bringing those names up to strike nerves in Dean. Nerves that were still open and raw to the world despite his mask and bravado. 

In fact as much as he hated it, and Dean did in fact hate himself for the fact that he found himself insulted at the fact that Alastair was referred to as a creepy demon. He was much, much more then that. He was worse then that. Dean glared into the fire, things were escaping him these days and he longed for a time when things were black and white. Good and bad. Monsters and him, like in Purgatory. Like in... 

“Are you alright?” Crowley's voice interrupted Dean's wild and unwanted thoughts. Purring velvet like the demon could hold in any situation unless his life was threatened then his voice was full of fire and brimstone and yelling. It could come on at the drop of a dime. 

“Ya... Fine. Ask away... Whatever, I don't care.” Dean snapped, he was angry and he couldn't remember what was making him the most angry, just that he was and there was more then one thing that he was angry at. 

~P.O.V Change~

Crowley couldn't be more pleased with the situation if he tried. In fact, there was something gratifying in the situation that made it tolerable despite having to lay himself bare. Or at least small portions of himself bare to a hunter who was far too good at what he did. In fact, any torment or manipulation was coming from inside of the Winchester. Crowley was just stirring the pot, something he was good at. 

Sure he was annoyed and insulted with the interruption during his kind explanation of the different kinds of demons there are. More or less. There was a whole lot more then what he explained but that was something he could get into later, if he could be bothered to and even then only if it was necessary. And yes, he did want to beat the boy for his rudeness. But as far as he was concerned, the boy never was taught how to use manners. So it was understandable. 

Sitting there watching his current company stew in his anger Crowley couldn't help but wonder that John Winchester got it wrong all these years. That it wasn't little Sammy Winchester that needed to be watched, to be targeted if needed. Perhaps it was Dean all along. Crowley only was aware of this because he was watching Alastair work his magic on the day they visited this little bit of Dean. 

Crowley was amused and rightfully filed the information away. In case it was needed, even to simply check facts against. It was still tucked away and ready for Crowley to use. 

And since Crowley figured it would be fair and amusing, he decided to delve into Dean's personal life that didn't involve hunting. Crowley was always curious about this little bit of scavenged info,   
“What's the deal between you and your angel buddy, Castiel? Everything read between the two of you as unresolved emotions. If I guess right love, it could very well be sexual tension between the two of you...” 

“Fuck off about that!” Dean snarled, instantly unable to stop himself obviously as he was now on his feet and posture clearly stating that he was ready for a fight. Crowley found himself amused. There was nothing this boy could do to him before Crowley reacted and put the boy down onto the ground. 

“We had an agreement, only truth's and so long as it's not business it's allowed love.” Crowley responded calmly as he moved his drink away from the edge of the side table before regarding Dean and dismissing Dean's disrespect in favour of the amusement this situation offered freely. 

Dean was practically vibrating in his rage. That darkness that was spoken of and Crowley spotted on his own only seemed to spike and become a sharpened blade. Crowley was oddly attracted to that, it was alluring and so dark and so much potential it wasn't even funny. If only John Winchester could see what kind of darkness was growing in his eldest son. Crowley would have loved to laugh at the fool. 

This was the thing that was growing all along, and this was the thing that once scared little Abby. 

“Don't answer me darling, I'm going to start drawing conclusions myself.” Crowley pushed calmly, confident in the situation being under his control and not in any way Dean's. 

“It was nothing, just tension from the situations at hand!” Dean insisted, angrily. Angry at being cornered with this little topic being used. Or angry that someone called him out. It all seemed to be a mutual attraction met by both sides but personal orientations or what species you were from kept things in the undiscovered area. If Crowley was Castiel, he wouldn't have wasted time. Thankfully he wasn't some awkward foolish angel. 

He was the King of Hell! 

“On that, Dean I have to call you on. You see, I see things and I've worked with Castiel before. He may not have meant to give anything away but I saw the longing in his eyes, delightfully sinful. And you, you never pushed that tension away. Or reject the notion in your late night dreams. And yes, I'm aware of those. I kept an eye on you for that year. You slept by Lisa and played house with her while fantasizing about an angel who wouldn't even know what to do with his dick if he decided to make a move.” Crowley pointed out as he shifted slightly, his false pleasantries fading to a feral grin that touched the edges of his mouth just enough to remind Dean who he was in the room with. 

That didn't stop Dean from perhaps the most foolish decision of the day, so far. 

The boy lost control and hoisted Crowley out of the chair by his shirt and jacket. 

“You shut the fuck up about that!” Dean ordered, he actually had the audacity to try and order Crowley around. The boy had a lot of anger about the situation. Anger brought on by the lust, the betrayals and the lies. And oh so much more faults in the boy's psyche. It was delightfully amusing. 

And this angry uncontrolled thing was what Alastair had to teach and he cultivated it beautifully. 

Despite his amusements with the situation was annoyed. He was even annoyed to stiffen his body so the boy couldn't move it any further. He was a demon after all and was stronger then Dean naturally. He utilized that fact by standing up straight and regarding Dean squarely in the eyes. A stare down that lasted a few seconds while he watched that darkness bubble in those expressive green eyes. 

Once he grew tired of it he decided to remind the boy a little bit of who he was dealing with. Crowley wasn't some black eyed nobody to be bullied around by a mere human. He was a King! He was powerful. He was everything Dean Winchester was not. 

Knocking Dean's footing out from under him he let the eldest Winchester fall with a thud and a curse as he tried to roll away and scramble back to his feet. The fight or flight response triggered and it wasn't flight. Crowley would have picked up scents and talltale signs of fear. There wasn't. Just rage and anger and so much more interesting little things swirling around the boy. 

Crowley's feral grin widened enough to bare his teeth. A swift kick to his hips was enough to send a shock of pain through his hips and legs to stop the progress of getting back to his feet. Another softer thud thanks to less of a distance to fall. Bending down he rolled Dean to his back and literally sat on his stomach. 

He was almost disappointed with the lack of fighting, Dean survived Purgatory and had a hunters life, so he was expecting more of a fight. Still he can't be too picky about this situation at hand. Take what you get. Dean did make it annoying to grab onto his wrists though, Crowley frowned because of that. 

Still with the boy now properly restrained on the floor in front of the fireplace was a good accomplishment. Legs were still kicking and Dean was still trying to struggle, but that didn't matter. Not to Crowley anyway. 

Grinning down at an angry borderline feral Dean Winchester Crowley did have to admit to himself that there was a certain pleasure of having the best hunter currently known defenceless and struggling underneath him. A little known fact that Crowley could do so much with that one thing. 

With a huff of laughter Crowley couldn't help but say,  
“You certainly are an angry little lost thing aren't you Winchester.” And at a whole lot of reasons that could leave anyone huddled and broken in a corner.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A should out Thank You to twinsarien for your time to make sure Crowley is being Crowley.

There was a lot to be said about situations especially like this one and Crowley, well he was one of the best at wording things just so. After all, he sold sins to saints and made the cruelest of crimes committed topside seem like acts of mercy. It all comes down to the details, in words and writing. The details is what decides whether or not you come out a winner or a loser in every gamble and deal. And never, ever overlook something even if it seems so small and so insignificant.

Crowley knows better then most that the smallest of things could cause the biggest of ripples.

Like a little deal made by a minor crossroads demon who was barely even a hundred. That deal sent a hunter to Hell a year later, and that hunter broke in thirty. Now even Crowley could freely admit that the number is impressive, not as impressive as Papa Winchester but there was something lacking in the angry old Veteran turned family man then hunter. Something that wasn't lacking in his eldest son, Dean Winchester.

The small detail that was present was a darkness and abandonment issues among so many other small tidbits the boy had hidden away but was carved free by master hands and razors. The seal was small, the soul even smaller. A child. But that small detail started a whole whirlwind of activity.

And like when the Apocalypse didn't happen. That changed things, that changed everything. A mere crossroads demon was never designed to be a King of an entire place like Hell. But things changed, and with it Crowley changed and took that crown for himself. For his own gain and his own protection. It was a rank that was useful in more then one ways.

And it all led to here and now.

Crowley was far from ashamed to say that he was an opportunist, and that was true and it was a necessity in his line of work. After all, how do you think he got so far? And gained so much. Crowley learnt from day one of being a crossroads demon that you had to play your cards close to your chest and that only a fool would flash what you had.

Crowley was no fool.

He was no young demon who was far too rash and jumped into messes without using pretty little heads. But that served Crowley best in the end. Any droppings they left behind, Crowley would use as an opportunity if he so chose to. And nine times out of ten, it pays off.

So what those same rash demons would pass over such a temptation and opportunity like this, was far too great. And to pass it up would be a fools mistake. Other demons, weaker demons would just kill the treasure that stumbled and fell into his lap. Crowley will do the opposite.

Granted at first he did intend to kill the broken brother of the demons chosen favorite before and during the Apocalypse. The second Dean returned from Purgatory and crossed paths with him in a little unimportant church. He had a weaker rash demon possess the Prophet Kevin Tran's girlfriend Channing. Kevin sprung a trap on them, holy water. Not his favorite, it stung and it burned but Crowley wasn't weak enough to give in to the pain it causes. He won't flail around like a weakling. He'll collect himself as quickly as he could.

He ended up snapping the girlfriend's neck. The Winchester's and Kevin escaped.

And it was a good thing in the end.

If he did, then he wouldn't have the struggling hunter full of spitfire glowering and cursing underneath him. The side table was knocked down in Dean's kicking and twisting. His drink spilt and the glass cracked. Not that it mattered right now, he'll get frustrated about it later. Priorities come first.

If Crowley was human, he'd be tired out by now with having to restrain an angry Dean Winchester who said some interesting insults to be honest, the boy could be creative if he wanted to be. And that was probably one small part that was in Dean and not John Winchester, one small part that caught the attention of Hell's worst torturer.

“Since you're not all that interested in being honest love, I'll have to take things into account on my own and in my own way.” Crowley said, not giving any sign away that he was restraining anyone.

“You better let me up Crowley! Or I swear to G...” Dean growled out as he fought against the restraining hands holding his wrists down. Crowley tried not to use enough pressure to break bones. But the more Dean struggled, the more Crowley was tempted to start breaking bones.

“God? Sorry darling, but he has no involvement in this proceeding.” Crowley interrupted as he pulled a knife from inside his suit's jacket. Dean stilled at the sight of it, glaring as though he was warning Crowley to not do anything and daring him at the same time.

Using the knife he cut down the shirt revealing skin to Crowley's roaming eyes. He had to admit the boy was pretty to look at. And it's been some time since he seen a man who was this pretty, he's seen pretty woman so long as they weren't skin and bones and the odd male who was pleasing but not entirely that pretty. Crowley wouldn't actually say that he was in a particular orientation, it's whatever works for him at the moment. His orientation along with his humanity was carved from him a long time ago. So who cared.

The tattoo that stuck out against his skin was that of an anti-possession tattoo. Put there to keep nasty demons out, but the thing with tattoo's is that they can be removed and damaged. And anti-possession tattoo's like devil traps only need one small break in a line before it's rendered nothing more then finger paint on the floor or in this case skin.

Dean for once wasn't struggling as he watched the knife in Crowley's hand. Something Crowley was pleased by, it would be such a shame to cut more then what he wanted to. He wasn't a crass demon with poor skill after all. Putting more pressure down to lessen the struggling should Dean start up again Crowley toyed with the blade for a second longer before he made a decision.

He wanted to see what the boy was like from the inside out.

He wanted to see that darkness without Dean's morals fighting on the front line.

And Crowley will see it, he will see just what makes Dean tick. And knowing how Dean ticks would make dealing with hunters in general a little bit easier, in fact the boy knows numerous hunters and what made them hunters. It would be invaluable information and it could prove to be more useful to him in the end.

With a wicked smile that clearly shows that he's up to something and it wasn't something thought up in benevolence at the least.

Alastair would torture with blades and razors and words and memories, knowing and understanding what made souls tick and above all else knowing how to remove unnecessary junk like morals and humanity.

Crowley could do the same with memories and words and the general human disposition. Or perhaps Crowley's just being a tad bit vain. There was no doubt though, he was good at what he did. And Crowley liked to consider himself a modern demon anyway, and Alastair's methods are old school.

Still, he understands the necessity in having things done the old way. Now isn't one of those times however.

“Don't you touch me with that knife!” Dean ordered. Anyone else Crowley would make them pay for having the audacity to order him around. Why else did he orchestrate Dean and Castiel being sucked into Purgatory. He just didn't count in Dean getting out, still he won't look gift horses in the mouth.

Crowley didn't grace Dean with an answer, instead just took the knife and cut through the anti-possession from one end to the other. Dean let out strangled sounds that were more angry then pain. The boy had a high pain tolerance, so a little cut like this won't bother him. It's the act and the audacity of someone holding him down and cutting him that's getting the reaction. That much Crowley could understand right there and then.

The only problem with this plan is what to do with his own body. His vessel is officially brain dead, Crowley carved away the identity the man once had and hollowed it out to fit Crowley comfortably. Like a self tailored suite. He would have to hide it away, put it on life support in an anonymous name and in a hospital where no one would know to look. Or think. Maybe somewhere in Canada?

With that thought taken care of Crowley braced himself and took hold of Dean's jaw forcing the boy's mouth open. It wasn't necessary after all a demon could slip into a vessel through your eyes, ears, nose and mouth. But this had a more psychological effect then anything.

Dean struggled kicked up again, Crowley expected that and smiled for it. After all he was a demon and to be honest it wouldn't be as much fun if his current source of attention didn't put up a fight. Even if it was a weak one at that.

“You'll understand why I'm doing this afterwards, who knows you might even thank me.” Crowley casually said and tightened his bruising grip holding Dean's mouth open with the use of his bottom jaw alone. It would hurt and he could already see the bruising starting to form on Dean's face. He could easily take care of that afterwards.

Almost instantly Crowley could feel himself shifting inside, it was a normal feeling to him now. It was more normal then being nothing more then sulphur smelling smoke topside where everything around you was clean and only air. Not sulphur or bellowing smoke from fires that burned both cold and hot. You never could really tell which was which while experiencing it. That was the beauty of it, and that was one of the things Crowley finds annoying. Still, useful for intimidation.

And just like that the last thing Crowley see's through his vessel's eyes is red smoke bellowing out of his mouth and forcing it's way into Dean's who struggled against it and tried fighting it. The anti-possession was useless now, like Crowley knows it would be if just one scratch or line breaks the perfect design of it.

For a second he could feel the sensations between two bodies, his own and Dean's. He felt like he was arching against a restraining body and felt a body arch and struggle against his own. Crowley would be lying if he didn't say that the sensation was a bit dizzying for a second.

And then just like that his preferred vessel collapsed like a puppet who just had it's strings cut. Crowley simply moves the body off of him without damaging it and sits up in Dean's body. Smiling cruelly he found it amusing that the face he now wears could use these sort of expressions as freely as a kind smile or a flirtatious one. But then again, Dean was always a human who was so expressive in his looks.

Summoning the same two demons that informed him about Dean Winchester's unique situation and made sure that he gave them extremely strict orders to take Crowley's preferred body into hiding, a hospital that can keep the body preserved. There's no telling how long he'll be riding this particular body. They knew better then to disobey him, in fact seemed more amused to the antics Crowley chose this time around.

His hounds weren't too fond of his body, but knew him and obeyed him. And that was good enough for Crowley. That was all he wanted, obedience he didn't care about whether or not he was liked or his temporary body is liked. Crowley liked the situation and that was all that mattered. For now.

When the time comes to exit this body and inhabit his own preferred body he'll just give his boys a call and they'll fetch the body for him. They would have no other choice because Crowley doesn't accept disobedience and he wasn't fond of the idea of searching for a new body. He was already familiar with that one and comfortable with it.

And Crowley liked his comforts, it's why the idea of rebelling first entered his thoughts. That and the knowledge that demons were next on the list to go. He won't accept that, it means the destruction of his own existence.

Fixing the chairs and table Crowley simply sat down and relaxed.

Inside of him was Dean in full awareness. Angry, confused and struggling still. A demon could choose whether or not to have the person they were possessing aware or not. Nine times out of ten they do because they don't care what the human see's or feels through them.

And the same went for Crowley, however this time he wasn't going to start off doing anything that would damage Dean in a physical sense. Just send him into a fit of confusion and torn between what is morally right for hunters like him. And what he once dealt with in Hell and in Purgatory.

That darkness that Crowley saw and has every intention of bringing to the surface.

Thirty minutes passed and still no beginning evidence to silence on Dean's part. Crowley could hear Dean in his mind screaming angry curses and insults still. The boy was creative. But he wasn't here to listen to what Dean had to say. Instead he pressed down on Dean's memories of Hell, not the thirty years of torture. That would be counter productive at the moment. Instead he pressed down on the ten years he spent as a student of Alastair's.

And boy where they interesting.

It turned out the boy was good at what he did, and when his humanity and pesky morals weren't giving that much of a struggle in his mind, he enjoyed what he did. He enjoyed the freedom it gave him of not having to be the one responsible for other people's safety or for a brother you had to raise when you yourself was only four in a half. Contradicting to what Dean Winchester was like topside. But that was the beauty of it. Another chink in the Winchester's armour. And one that could split everything wide open if played right.

Dean knows all of this and does his best to deny it, and Crowley has to admit that he does a good job in the whole denial thing. Better then most who crack after a small amount of probing on Crowley's part. People who crack quickly make deals so much easier because Crowley could get what he wants and the one seeking the deal is none the wiser.

Once Crowley settled on one memory in particular he decided to venture inward to explore it further with Dean. It's not like he'll be interrupted anytime soon as he sits in his hideaway. No one was likely to drive by and spot the Impala which was an obvious sign to who's here to those who knows who Dean Winchester was.

_Crowley found himself sitting on a stool in the visage of his preferred vessel rather then as Dean. In front of him was Dean was laying back on the rack. Alastair standing beside him, hand mockingly gentle on his forehead in a mockery of reassurance. Everything was frozen around them. This was after all a memory he delved into and he controlled it. Dean in this memory was in the place of well, himself._

_“This is interesting, want to explain?” Crowley asked Dean who just realized where he was and who was with him practically jumped off the rack and stumbled away from it. Alastair didn't move because Crowley didn't want him to. This was only a memory after all, so he had the power over a memory visage of someone._

_Dean looked confused for a second as he looked at the rack where another version of himself was now laying. Blood up to his elbows and knees, splattering over his bare chest and a pleading look up at the demon hanging over him._

_“Need I remind you, this is your memory but in my control. I can play it if you want?” Crowley calmly said, he was in control and it showed by how he held himself. Dean would see this and understand it. Dean would know he was helpless against this._

_“No.” Dean snapped and visibly watched as Crowley held up a hand, ready to snap his fingers for theatrics. He didn't actually have to move his hand, he could move this memory with a thought. This was for Dean's sake so he could see that Crowley could do it._

_“Then tell me about it.” Crowley pushed calmly as he kept his hand in the air. Dean faltered, didn't say a word in fact seemed to be pulled towards the memory and pleading with Crowley to not make him watch this particular memory that plays out several times in the early years of Dean playing student._

_A snap of his fingers and there was movement and the sounds of Hell started up again._

_Dean actually whimpered. Crowley smiled. He may not be one for torture as a first response but he like other demons liked a good session. He was sadistic when he wanted to be, but he was also just as comfortable in giving something akin to mercy with a string attached._

_“Don't worry my boy, I can help you deal with these emotions. They're perfectly normal for those who get off the rack recently. Just let me help you.” Alastair spoke._

_Crowley was enjoying watching this too much, even more thrilled that Dean even said please. The boy was actually begging for the razor to cut into him. To cut away his humanity, what had him hesitating in his learning sessions. To cut away that hesitation that kept him listening to pleading with the fleeting notions of helping the sorry soul on the rack._

_“Please just stop this...” Dean was saying, and boy was Crowley both silently shocked and clearly amused that his sleeve was actually grabbed by Dean. Almost a childlike mentality was brought forward, but vulnerable memories like these do bring that side to you. No matter how big and strong you are. The next is rage, but he'll get to that later. Crowley knows that he'll get to every emotion, even the ones that could be deemed positive to the ignorant._

_“Are you going to tell me about it?” Crowley asked calmly watching Dean instead of the memory of a torture session where Dean wasn't restrained at all._

_“Fine... Yes... Fine.” Dean said, a look of torn defeat on his face and a self-loathing of giving in so easily. Crowley savoured it for a moment._

_Dean spared one last almost wary look towards the action on the rack before taking a breath and telling Crowley all about it. He didn't spare the details either. At some point he pulled away from Crowley, no longer touching the demon he probably blamed rightfully for this memory being replayed._

_The memory didn't play anymore, a reward for Dean speaking up. The boy had mixed feelings about it. Which was something to be expected._

Crowley found the session to be rather enjoyable. With him at the helm of those memories, he could block any strengths Dean would have against them or any defence he could have because of who's body this was and who was in the driver seat. Crowley knows this was the best way of hurting someone in less time then it would take otherwise.

And he knows somewhere in these memories and somewhere in the many other memories he could find in Dean's swirling mess of a mind there's that inescapable darkness he saw in Dean's eyes and was reported to him by two of his demons. Once it truly was located and dare he say, courted then the fun could really start.

It should take a bit though, Dean's memories hold more then what most people his age would hold. After all he spent an extra forty years in Hell, and then Purgatory. So needlessly said according to his memories he spent an entire lifetime already.

Once Crowley gets Dean to co-operate with things then he could start trying out this body at the helm and Dean would be forced to feel everything Crowley feels and witness everything Crowley does. It was going to be fun.

He did the same thing to Linda Tran, only he didn't have as many memories to delve into but there was a few interesting ones that he pushed down on in between causing her pain himself. Driving her into shock and a catatonic state. And he didn't even have that long to do it, so that seemed like a pretty well done job. With Dean however he'll have time to get to know the memories intimately.

And eventually he knows Dean will either fight him more or thank him. Crowley could free the hunter from the chains that he's bound by. Think of it like Alastair letting him off the rack for the first time. Only different. He did find it slightly odd that Dean clung to him so freely though, but that could be explained away with the fact that with him controlling what memories play and the memories themselves any defence or strengths of character Dean has were blocked.

Still, it was interesting. What if Dean had a near childlike mentality in Hell? Or was that simply when he just got off the rack, if so did he grow out of it? He'll have to take closer looks at Dean's behaviour during the early years as a student.

Eventually he'll look for the location of Kevin Tran, Sam Winchester and other hunters that Dean was aware of. He'll familiarize himself with everything in a hunters lifestyle and habits. He already knows plenty, after all he's lasted this long even the Winchesters with their merry little band was taking shots at him.

Still, intimate knowledge would be useful.

It all simply depended on what he was going to do with the extra information and locations. Would he go for those spots himself, especially where it concerns Kevin Tran. Would he decide to wear Dean when he does so, or would he get Dean to do the dirty work? It all depended on how his exploitative situations turn out with Dean and Dean's memories under Crowley's control.

The next memory he set eyes on was a particular memory with a soul on the rack and Dean at the helm. Crowley recognized the soul to be someone he once made a deal with for something as foolish as getting the crown at a prom dance. The girl was desperate and atheist so she didn't believe in all of the talk about Heaven and Hell.

Dean proved her wrong with a cold fury. And Crowley enjoyed watching the memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now what do you figure should happen?


	7. Chapter 7

It was a weird experience being in your own mind, in your own memories and not able to do anything about it. Most of the time it was disorienting and left him feeling confused about whether or not he was the one acting out the memory or if he was just watching himself converse with Alastair or cut into Bella or so many other souls. And there was many. Dean barely had a break during those ten years.

Dean was always working. Always perfecting his skills even when he didn't want to. Bending to Alastair's will and hating the demon while loving him for the attention and praises.

Time meant nothing in Hell. And it appears that remains true in his own mind. Dean wouldn't be able to tell you how long has passed or if any time passed at all.

At this point he wouldn't be able to tell you how many memories of his that he watched, now not only during the ten years he spent as a student but other memories. Good ones, bad ones and the worst ones.

At the moment Dean found himself standing in the large room he dubbed a workshop, it was where he was trained by Alastair from when he got off the rack until Castiel plucked him from Hell. During those ten years he barely saw any other demon except for the odd student and Meg showing up every now and again. Mostly it was just himself and his late master. The walls were covered with study material. And research. Gruesomely tacked to the wall using small bones and instead of paper it was skin from so many different people. Even his own skin was tacked to the wall with inscriptions tattooed into the skin. Blood covered the walls underneath the skin because the skin was always fresh when it was put up. All three layers.

Dean once asked during his third year why there was skin when there's not really anything physical here like bodies, only souls. Everything else was a bi-product of original designs for Hell and demons sick and twisted wants and needs. He remembered that conversation all too clearly here and now as he stood there staring at the inscriptions knowing he should understand it but somehow he forgot.

Why did he forget?

Did he even want to remember how because normally Dean would figure that it wasn't a good thing to understand ancient languages demons as old as Alastair used. Dean knows now that it's a twisted counter version of Enochian but for the life of him he didn't understand what it meant.

Dean could remember a conversation he once had with Alastair, it was the third year he was off the rack and getting used to things and much to his dismay his own guilt was slowly washing away with each cut. Soon he knows he won't even remember why he felt guilty in the first place. After all everyone got what they deserved when they came here.

Right?

Almost like it was a twisted version of a play on a stage Dean's attention was caught by what was going on in front of him. Dean watched himself stand in the 'workshop', damaged and devoid of humanity all wrapped within a thoughtful expression while scraps were left on the rack that he practised on. Alastair not too far from him, always there or in the same area room at least. Not looking as towering as he did when it was Dean on the rack, but still intimidating all the same. Damaged and nothing human left in the old demon.

Dean knew that in time he probably would have looked as inhumane as well. That was what Hell was. To have your humanity carved and cut away and to take everything you ever were away. Torment... Torture... Pain... Nothing good to put it plainly. He was warned by Ruby, he was warned by his own instincts. And he was no longer ignorant to the facts like he used to be.

Focusing on the memory as well as he could Dean watched.

Dean once asked a question he shouldn't have.

_“Why is the room like this? With skin and flesh and bones? Isn't only souls supposed to be here?” Dean mused as he cleaned the tools he used today. His master liked everything clean, workable and functioning. Which was funny considering how much blood and scraps could litter the grounds. Scraps to feed hounds who run and holler and play amongst the dead until masters require them to bring more souls. Always more to get._

_“Why do you think things look this way?” Alastair acknowledged and asked in return, these days he took on a more professor land encouraged Dean to think for himself in things that he was being taught. And Dean, he was the old demons favorite student. Alastair always says so._

_Dean frowned as he eyed the surroundings carefully. He didn't want to disappoint Alastair. He always hated when he did that and Alastair lets him know loud and clear when he's disappointed. It made Dean work harder and longer and with more fury to get it right this time._

_“Memory?” Dean tried, he was never considered the smart one. That was usually Sam's thing. Collage boy. Reading instead of training. Daydreaming of a normal life rather then living with the reality like Dean had to. Dean finally acknowledges that he's angry for that. Alastair helped him come to that realization. It was wrong. It was right. It was how things are._

_“Could be, try harder.” Alastair pushed, not correcting him and not saying that he got it wrong. Yet. Dean tried harder, thought through everything he knows, past the torture and the hurt he can do. To other knowledge._

_“You're smarter then you're giving yourself credit son, let me hear why things look the way they do.” Alastair added. Dean felt a surge of panic at the chances of disappointing Alastair and hated that it was so easy for the demon to get such reactions out of him. And yet he felt pleased that someone thought he was smart. Someone encouraged it._

_Dean played with a razor that he was cleaning, it felt real in his hands and that was a comfort._

_“Like the Trickster, how he could just create things in thin air. All of this is how the soul could rationalize things, uh, with memories. Like flesh and bone, knives and chains?” Dean tried, not quite sure but slightly more confident in his answer then his one worded answer. Alastair liked full explanations._

_“Bingo kiddo. You did great. See I knew you could do it. You just had to stop and think.” Alastair declared as he indicated the rack behind him. Dean turned and a new soul was there. This time a large man with tattoos. Dean recognized him as the man he dubbed 'Tiny' while topside and in prison. Tiny died because Dean failed to save him from the monster of the day. Details were a bit fuzzy._

_“Just one more question... Who's the one who thought up this?” Dean asked and dreaded the answer._

“That's a good question, who thought up such a room like that?” Crowley asked, appearing just like that as he always does to ask questions and poke at Dean in some way or another. He looked as he did before he stole Dean's body and used it as his own. Dean was furious for that, but there was little he could do about it at the moment.

Dean glowered. Dean hated when he showed up just as much as Dean hated to be left alone with his memories, he always hated being left alone with his memories. Normally he'd find something to distract himself from them. Hunts. Alcohol. Woman and the odd man when nothing else was around. Now he had none of that to distract himself with, nothing but Crowley. Always Crowley and now he found that he actually hoped for the distraction.

It didn't stop him from hating the situation though. He wondered if he was becoming mentally unstable or something? There was a word for things like this, Sam would know those words. Dean not so much. Dean fought furiously for a way to figure out what to do with this situation but he knows that it was better to just answer the bastard. More or less.

“No answer? Well let's just see what...” Crowley began to say, raising his hand in a gesture that Dean became familiar with as a gesture that played the memory. Like Gabriel with the finger snapping and reality shifting. Dean knows that the gesture was more so for his sake then anything and Dean despite how much he loathed to admit this, Crowley was too good at things like this. It was almost like a psychological attack, and it probably was somehow. And that was what made Crowley dangerous because he knows how to play his cards right.

Dean sighed and cursed himself, but he had to do this.

“Mine. The room is mine.” Dean interrupted and couldn't bare to look at the smug expression Crowley had when Dean gave in again and answered him. Dean wanted to lash out, get violent and hurt the demon for this. Instead he picked a safe distance between Crowley and the memory.

“How? This doesn't seem like something you could think up. Or something a soul as bright as yours could conjure up to rationalize things?” Crowley pushed, he always pushed for more. If Dean gave him one word the man would drag full explanations out of those answers. And if Dean didn't answer, the memory would and Dean would be left alone with it and his anger and his shame. The shame was the worst, he got used to the anger and being alone a long time ago. Shame only came after he was saved by Castiel.

Dean glared but made no move to do anything other then that. A sigh from Crowley and his hand taking on a more familiar shape of someone ready to snap their fingers. Dean let out a huff as a momentary response.

“He said so... He said that this is what formed after thirty years, he said that this was mine. His work room but mine all the same. It's a garage when you take away the blood and stuff. I worked in garage's the most because I'm good with cars, I worked in Bobby's garage more times then not. And then during the time I was with Lisa. Only there's no car here, instead of car lifts to make it easier to get underneath the car. There's a rack. And a table and knives instead of wrenches.” Dean explained, feeling like a knife was twisted in his gut. He hated that he had to give pieces of himself away.

What will he have left of himself when this is done? If it ever finishes.

Dean could see that Crowley was amused, too amused for his liking but what to do about it. What could he do about it? And the answer to that was nothing, Crowley could just leave and the same routine can keep going. Memories, questions and answers before more memories.

“How long has passed since you stole control of my body?” Dean forced out, this was the first time he asked a question in return. Dean didn't know if he was allowed and didn't care all at the same time. If Crowley was going to keep him locked here then he'll have to deal with questions at this point.

Much to his annoyance Crowley just looked increasingly amused, Dean regretted asking the question in the first place.

But he got no answer, instead Crowley just left Dean alone. Alone and angry.

Dean watched more memories. Paced his prison and kept watching. He was frustrated and angry. But mostly tired of this. How long did he have to be here? Why did he have to be here? It was bad enough he was left alone in the first place. By Sam. By Cas. By Benny who was busy dealing with his own things. By his Dad. His mom. Alastair. Everyone and now Crowley as well.

Dean felt abandoned.

Alone.

_Alastair stood in front of him, Dean found himself on his knees as his limbs healed and the rack was no longer behind him. He was free of it. And in front of the demon who broke him. He felt as weak as a child. The demon, Alastair crouched down in front of him and with a gentleness he never felt from the demon before took his chin in his clawed grip. Not cutting him, not anything but moving his head so Dean could look into those white eyes he couldn't stand to look into for thirty years._

_“There is no shame in this.” Alastair promised him._

_“Things are in your control now, you no longer have to worry about things anymore like you used to. Such burdens should not have been placed on shoulders like yours.” Alastair told him. Voice sickly sweet, maybe mocking. He couldn't' tell._

_A razor was held to him._

_Dean took it._

_Alastair smiled cruelly as he helped Dean stand up. After so many years of being tortured, he was now being helped to his feet. And since he was abandoned to Hell, torn apart by a Hound Dean now had someone who didn't show that he was going to do any of that. Abandon him. Leave him. Betray him._

_Dean knows he should know better._

_But he doesn't._

_He's broken, oh so broken and so easily twisted to what his new and only Master would want of him._

Dean hated this memory most of all. And he didn't know why when he had so many other memories worse then this one. Maybe because it was a lie. A twisted, misshapen lie. Alastair did everything he foolishly thought he wouldn't do in such a broken state. Dean should have known better but he didn't.

“That was cheerful.” Crowley's voice broke through to Dean's attention. Dean wanted to sarcastically ask where the question was. But nothing came out as he glared at the smug demon who stood with a drink in hand while he looked at the now frozen scene.

Dean's pitiful form on the ground with a demon offering a future where Dean wouldn't have to deal with the things of the past. Instead Dean had to deal with completely new things. Worse things. Normal things. Horrible things.

“What do you want!” Dean finally managed to force out. His hands in fists without his knowing it. He so badly wanted to hurt Crowley. So bad. Crowley smirked and Dean practically hissed in anger.

“Shouldn't you be more concerned with what I'm doing with your body then what I want with you.” Crowley pointed out casually, taking a sip of his drink. How could he even drink that or maybe it was just a gesture Dean remembers Crowley doing at times. Drinking his expensive alcohol while conversing with them, mostly in insults and posturing but still talking with them.

But that didn't change the fact that he was right, Dean probably should be more concerned. His body could be used for horrible things. Like murder. Torture. Rape or other nasty things he figures and knows that Crowley could get up to. Maybe his own body was being tortured and brutalized under Crowley's whims?

And with the fact that he couldn't see anything that was happening like usual victims of possessions. Dean frowned at the word victim, he wasn't one. Not by a long shot. He was just stuck in a bind, nothing more then that. He was by no means a possession.

Which made another realization come to the forefront of his mind. Lovely little Latin words he could use to get rid of Crowley.

It was foolish.

It was stupid.

But he had to be rid of Crowley, and he wasn't always known as the smart one. He was more gutsy though and took risks that normal hunters who didn't have the weight of the world on there shoulders like he and Sam did would take.

“ Exorcizamus te, om...” Dean started when a hard grip to his throat cut his words off instantly leaving him silent and face to face with Crowley. Who looked furious and amused at the same time, if it even was possible. And Dean still had to think about how this was possible to even do in the first place. To feel as though he was physically gripped by his throat.

Feeling something physical like having his throat squeezed shouldn't be possible.

In fact, it's impossible.

But then again, during that time when dealing with dreams, that felt too real too. Maybe this was similar. Dean knows that he shouldn't need air at the moment, but found gasping for it as the grip around his throat tightened. Dean tried to make Crowley let go, knowing it was a foolish attempt but he tried anyway.

“Foolish move. But I was hoping you'd make it sooner or later.” Crowley practically purred, anger still evident but the sadistic gleam and behaviour that is so well known in demons took centre stage as Dean was pushed back so he was leaning against a rack that was empty. Where did it come from! Why was it event here!

Dean started to panic and he couldn't stop himself from panicking and struggling.

Dean soon found himself restrained and Crowley standing in front of him. Behind him was Alastair who was approaching. Dean frowned in confusion while still testing the binds that pinned him down with a cutting efficiency. Dean found that he lost his voice momentarily as he tried to ask what was going on now.

“You shouldn't have done that, I could have made things easier for you.” Crowley stated as he moved out of Alastair's way, or a memory of Alastair. Dean followed Crowley's movements while keeping an eye on a long since dead demon. Crowley seemed to have seen Dean's wariness and confusion when it came to the form of Alastair standing in front of him with a razor at hand and ready.

“This is just a dream, don't you fret your pretty head darling. You just have to be reminded on who's boss around here.” Crowley explained as he gestured the torture master who was smiling at Dean. Dean shivered. His mind practically chanting the mantra of: This isn't fair! This isn't fair! This isn't fair!

And it wasn't.

The last thing Dean saw of Crowley was red eyes and a smile.

Dean hated the fact that he wanted the damned demon to come back rather then being left with a bastardized memory of Alastair.

~Crowley~

Three whole days passed since Crowley first possessed Dean by force. Three days may have passed for Crowley but for Dean, he was aware that time felt longer and that it had no meaning when it was Crowley who had the power to make it seem like years passed. And since he tried to exorcise him from the inside. Bold move, commendable to a small unnoticeable degree.

However bold or not, it didn't remain unpunished. Crowley used Alastair through Dean's memories of him as a tool. Even if the boy knows it's only a dream and that Alastair was actually dead, it won't matter because this was a psychological attack on Dean's endurance and all of his open wounds that never really closed since Castiel pulled him free.

It's a pity, he would have liked to see how things would have went if Dean was a demon.

But things were how they were and Crowley knows better then to dwell on little what if's of the past. Instead he either ignores them or waits until time is right to retaliate. And his retaliation could come whenever Crowley decides it does, no sooner and no later.

Closing his eyes briefly he could hear screaming in his mind, Dean's screams. This was the music Alastair was gifted to listen to for thirty years. And now Crowley is listening to it. Dean's pain was beautiful, however he wanted to see other things then Dean's pain.

He wanted to dig up that darkness, but first he has to knock a few other things free so what was starting to happen already could be sped up.

And he wanted to see how that darkness could change Dean and twist the righteous man into something worse. Crowley wants to utilize that for himself in every way possible. And he meant every way possible. And the promises that notion held caused Crowley to smile in anticipation while driving down the highway in the Impala.

In the back seat sat his favorite Hellhound, his second favorite Hellhound was killed when Sam was pulled free. Not that it mattered, not when he had the best and the meanest hound waiting patiently in the backseat.

They had a soul to collect from a deal that comes due in three hours. And they were three hours away exactly.

Only he might consider not taking the soul just yet, it was tempting to see what this body could do when it comes to the skill Dean once picked up under Alastair's tutelage. And Crowley was in the mood for torture. He didn't always get up to this act because he wasn't always as sadistic as other demons and wasn't always out to hurt everyone, just corrupt here and there. Let the humans do the rest themselves. He was a patient demon.

But even he liked a good torture session here and there and was far from above torturing when he wasn't too bad himself. Not the best compared to the deceased Chief Torturer, but not bad.

Three hours to get there, so he stopped the torture in his mind and let him re-visit memories from times in Purgatory and during those spectacular ten years as a student. He let Dean think things over as those memories play. If the boy bothered to think at all. Either way things were going to be interesting when he goes and fetches the life and soul of a man who sold his soul to cover up a murder he accidentally did as a young adult.

Crowley remembered how desperate the little man was when he summoned a crossroads demon and Crowley on a mere whim decided to overtake that crossroad for the sake of doing something. He was bored. And so he negotiated with the fretful and desperate fool pacing the crossroads they stood in the middle of. Crowley was patient, allowed him all the time in the world to play with the pro's and con's of the deal.

In the end he puckered up and sealed the deal and all his problems disappeared and for ten whole years he did what he wanted as a guiltless moron who probably didn't think on how short those ten years would seem when the deadline is coming up. And true to that, time flies fast when you're not really paying attention to the little days in between. So before you know it, your deal's come due and it was time to collect.

Crowley knows he makes the whole 'be careful of what you wish for' true, after all what you wish for may not be what you expect or even wanted despite how you carefully or not so carefully thought over it.

Dean's phone was on the seat beside him. Three missed calls from Sam and Crowley had to smile because of that. Sam was probably either trying to make up with his brother or just see what he was doing. Little did the moose know was that Crowley was for the moment possessing his big brother and inflicting torture on Dean's mind. But hey, you had to be cruel to be kind.

He was freeing Dean.

And he was sort of. Dean was growing more attached to him without his knowing it. In fact, he actually felt abandoned when Crowley left him alone once and the latest time before a memory version of Alastair tortured Dean, Dean preferred him over the version of Alastair that was approaching the dreamed up rack that held Dean beautifully.

While he was in possession of Dean's body Crowley's preferred vessel was still safe and sound and hooked up to machines to keep the body functioning. Doctors were possessed by his loyal demons making sure nothing happens to the body. They would be foolish to let anything happen to it.

On his order they will fetch it for him. And to do that, he'll use the human way and give them a call. He'll do that the same day he releases Dean.


	8. Chapter 8

The drive was pleasant enough. An hour before they got there Dean became aware of his surroundings after his little lesson with the 'bastardized' version of Alastair as Dean so elegantly put it. The only difference now was that Crowley was now following the general rule most demons do when possessing a human.

Let them see everything.

Let them feel everything.

And Dean was far from happy about this. He still didn't know how long it was or what time or day. But that took a back seat to the fact that Crowley was driving the Impala. And there was so many delicious memories in this car. Both good and bad. Dean wasn't too happy with him knowing so many things. But that didn't matter in the end, what mattered was what Crowley wanted.

And he wanted to see this darkness and bring it forward like Alastair nearly managed. As far as Crowley was concerned the Chief Torturer failed the second Dean was 'rescued' from Hell to be used by Heaven. It turns out that if Dean wasn't someone's bitch in Hell he was someone's Bitch in Heaven. There was no in between for this righteous man. And the fact of the matter Dean knows it and resents it. Fights it. Commendable to some degree, even Crowley could acknowledge this.

There was always a viciousness to Dean when he got going. Something that lacked in the so-called boy king. Boy was right, big as he was there was just something child like in Sam that Crowley could barely stand. If anything Sam came across as a spoiled brat with a 'why me' complex at times that was gag-worthy. During the Apocalypse Crowley had no choice because the enemy of his enemy was a friend. That was how he looked at it. And he got enough out of it in the end to make it worth it.

Despite the lesson Crowley had the 'Alastair' teach Dean, he was still trying to force Crowley out only this time he was busy trying to steal back control of his body despite his knowing that it was impossible without outside help. Crowley was the one in the driver's seat for this ride. Figuratively and literally. Crowley controlled everything, he always has. Even when they were pitted against each other before Sam ran off and Kevin was with his mother hiding like Crowley suggested that he should, Crowley always remained a step ahead. It was a must in order to keep control of the situation.

And it would help him from keeping the Gates of Hell from being closed. Crowley couldn't have that, though he figures the mission to do that was or is on hold while the broken members of 'Team Free Will' are either away or separated. And Dean didn't know of any other hunter trying to do the same with the tactics Dean and the rest of 'Team Free Will' was using.

 _'Damn it Crowley! Get out! Let me have my body back!'_ Dean's voice yelled from the back of his mind. Crowley smiled for it. At least he wasn't trying to exorcise Crowley again. Learnt his lesson like a good boy in that department. Dean probably doesn't even realize that he wasn't trying again and if he does he's not giving it away.

Crowley didn't acknowledge Dean or his yelling and demands. There was a reason for that. Dean was getting desperate for acknowledgement or even attention and he didn't want to admit to that. Denial was a common thing for the eldest Winchester. And it was fun to watch. Crowley was able to witness during the Apocalypse when he was with the boys and the angel.

Eventually Dean's yells and demands for his body back turned to questions of what Crowley was doing, what was he going to do next. What his plans were. Why being the main one. Crowley will explain in time, or not. It didn't matter at the moment as he ignored Dean and pulled into the driveway of a nice little house on the outskirts of a town. Secluded enough for privacy. Not that it would matter because Crowley had a lot of power under his belt and he had a lot of knowledge, even more then the average demon would or should know. Sometimes it made people wonder if he was a demon in the first place.

Crowley could assure you that he was. He was just smarter then the other sorry slobs. And Crowley knows full well how to use information and how to get it. Torture wasn't the only way. Though it could be helpful and a useful tool to use and have at your disposal. And a good distraction for when things get even too mundane for him.

Crowley smiled and got out of the car bringing a bag with him with knives that would be useful and beautifully sharp and crafted. Even Dean would marvel at their beauty. His loyal Hound followed after him. Crowley scratched it behind the ear for a moment before simply unlocking the door and entering with his Hellhound who knew better then to just attack.

He could sense the soul that he owns and the contract inscribed on the man's soul upstairs. With a smile Crowley calmly moved, he was rather pleased that Dean's body seems to be a natural predator. Though Crowley expected no less considering Dean was a hunter.

Dean was pleading in the back of his mind again for Crowley to not do what he was going to do. To know what was going to happen and why it was happening. Why Crowley was doing this and a pleasantly selfish question of why are you doing this to me? Never mind what he was doing here.

Opening the bedroom door Crowley set eyes on the slumbering man who was oddly not concerned with what was going to come to him. Walking closer to the bed he reached down and a hard shake woke the man up. He got people like this sometimes, clueless even as their seconds trickle away from them.

He seemed confused for a moment, the woman sleeping with him. His wife for five years now and finally with child woke up and screamed. Crowley snapped his fingers and in an instance his Hound was poised on top of her, it's nozzle inches away from her face and the husband finally understood what this was because he could see the massive Hound face to face with his wife.

“Please! Please don't hurt her!” The man pleaded, his voice filled with honest love and devotion. To be honest if he wasn't a demon and who he was, he'd be touched by such emotions. However he was a demon and not only that but the King of Hell, he found it more amusing than anything and if his mood was a little worse then it is now it would be nothing but annoying.

It would be best to just enjoy what he was here for. And he was here to test the body out. In his mind he could hear Dean threatening him, pausing for moments before reminding himself to go back to yelling and demanding and threatening. Crowley didn't acknowledge him at the least earning brief seconds of silence before more aggravated snaps and shouts.

The wife wasn't screaming anymore, she was whimpering and trying to flatten herself onto the bed further to escape the foul sulphuric breath of the Hellhound ready to end her life and tear her soul free of her fleshy confines. It would feast on her growing infant, such an innocent morsel like that was equivalent to a dogs treat for a Hellhound. Something Crowley should consider.

“I won't harm a hair on her head, if you come with me to another room. Your nursery, it has enough room.” Crowley calmly said, cruel and calculating. Dean wasn't lost on the fact that going to that room was desecrating a place where an innocent will one day rest and sleep and eventually grow up in. At least Crowley wasn't the self-centred but respectable Azazel. Dean should count himself lucky with that, or at least the Mother and her child should. If they actually lived through this night.

Much to his delight, the john doe who sold his soul to make a mess go away got up and cautiously moved around Crowley and to the bedrooms door. Fear controlling his every move, fear and a foolish blind hope that Crowley will do as he said and not harm a hair on hear head. And he won't. He won't touch a single hair on her head. The rest of her might not be so lucky, but Crowley will keep his word.

“Eric...” The wife, lovely little thing, squeaked in fear. Her voice trembling with it. Crowley just gives her a smile before pushing 'Eric' onward before he could reassure his wife who was trembling underneath his prized Hellhound and holding her swelling belly in vain attempts to protect the innocent soul growing unaware inside of her.

Closing the door behind him he could hear the mocking growls and whimpers behind him. Dean was screaming at him again and probably couldn't describe who to scream at him for. The wife or 'Eric' or maybe for both. Dean even brought himself to pleading with Crowley to give mercy to them.

Crowley ignored. Silence was the key here when it came to Dean. Dean was a creature who thrived on acknowledgement of others despite his lone wolf persona. He needed someone else to see him, talk to him, touch him. When he couldn't get that from family, Crowley knows he gets it from one night stands. Or even from hunts and playing the part of the FBI agent or whatever else he needed to do in order to gain information about monsters and victims.

Dean was needy. Dean was dark. Dean was a vicious hunter who made other hunters who was believed to be ruthless look like frauds. It was fun to see and useful to know.

When they got into the room Crowley casually looked around for something to use to restrain the man so he didn't struggle too much. Yes, doing what he came to do here would do wonderful for this purpose. Another piece destroyed in Dean and a pass on the time for Crowley.

“Don't move, I'll be back in less then a minute. If you do, I will make you watch as I warm up on your wife.” Crowley threatened, his eyes flashing red just for the sake of it. To prove the point of what he was and who he was despite the younger vessel he was wearing at the moment.

The man nodded and Dean pleaded. Threatened, but mostly pleading now. The hunter knows what's going to happen and knows who's experience Crowley was going to draw on. Crowley had skills, but he wanted Dean's skills to be used today.

Two minutes, that was how long it took him to teleport to a prison where he snatched up a table where prisoners were strapped to when given the lethal injection. This would be useful. When he returned he was pleased with the fact that 'Eric' didn't move an inch from where he stood.

“Where's your tools? I'm assuming you have those in the house?” Crowley asked casually as he stood up on the opposite side of his latest tool to be used.

“Closet under the stairs... Please don't do this.” Eric pleaded, Crowley didn't acknowledge the sentimental pleading. It was something that was used to appeal to his humanity, people often realize that Crowley didn't have any despite what he shows when it comes to a few things here and there. Normally he plays the corrupt but useful ally when who he's helping has something he wants. And Crowley plays it very well.

Carrying the box of tools upstairs from where he fetched it, Crowley could hear the whimpering sobs coming from the room and the near hyperventilation coming from good little 'Eric'. Crowley let himself absorb the reactions and the resignation now coming from Dean. Not lost hope or giving up, just accepting that he has no power here. And what was that? Curiosity? That would be too good to be true.

Crowley set out in what he was doing. Restraining his target on the table. The man was shaking and about ready to wet himself, but the shame of such a loss of control still holding it in. Not for long. Crowley's knives laid out on the spot that was going to be used to change the baby's diapers when it was born. In full view of 'Eric', the father to be or not. Crowley had to make sure to focus on what was going to happen next. Not the torture, he knows what to do there. It wasn't what Crowley would usually do unless there was something he needed or wanted out of the act, and now was one of those times where there was something he wanted.

It took him about one hundred years topside to master this ability, and oddly it was on a dare from Lilith in her childish glee.

Crowley hasn't done it in fifty years. But in short, Dean's body controls would be under Crowley's control but Dean's reactions and muscle memory would be Dean's. With coaxing from Crowley of course, if he left it all to Dean except for movements then this scenario would be set to failure.

Dean could feel this as well, he may not understand it but knows it's going to be bad. The pleading started again and the struggling that didn't do a thing but appease Dean's need to do something.

Crowley simply cut away the clothing and focused on what his task was going to do. Crowley couldn't even hear the pleading and screaming for help that was coming from the tool strapped tot he table.

 

_Start small. It is always best to start small and work your way up._

A lesson that came to the forefront of Dean's mind in Alastair's voice, automatic as a knife was felt in his hands. Cold and ruthless, forget the fact that it was under Crowley's control. Dean was familiar with how it feels. And pleaded once more with Crowley. Crowley smiled down at 'Eric' who gave up screaming for help as he watched the knife with a hitched breath. Praying no doubt for this to not happen.

Crowley felt like he was a student of sorts, an odd sensation but acceptable as he did what the words in Dean's memory stated to do. Diligently starting small where he knows Dean would start by instinct and memory.

 

_Don't leave no nerve and pain centre untouched, but don't focus on pain alone._

Crowley could hear the devotion of teaching in Alastair's voice through Dean's memories, the old crazed demon enjoyed the job of being a teacher and using that as another form of torture as he stripped away more of Dean's humanity.

Blood was pouring freely from Crowley's ministrations with different knives. A few times Dean even started to tell him where to cut next. And then shut up real fast afterwards, shame and guilt and self-loathing only multiplied. Crowley enjoyed it all too much. Dean's phone rang from inside the jacket Crowley was wearing that belonged to Dean. Stopping momentarily he checked to see who it was.

It was Sam. A text message that Crowley will read later without Dean seeing.

Putting it away he focused more on what he was doing. Starting with the feet as Dean sometimes did and following with the hands. The legs then the arms.

Dean's weakening voice explained things to him. No longer in Alastair's voice through memory but Dean himself was guiding Crowley's hands verbally. Start outward and work your way in. It leaves the best parts for last. Never touch the head until last. Dean hated himself for what he was saying and what he was telling Crowley to do.

Crowley was enjoying the quick corruption that was happening in Dean. Normally he knows that the hunter wouldn't have broken so easily, but this hunter spent forty years in Hell and quite some time in Purgatory. That does something to you, and that damage isn't something that could be healed or cleaned away or even ignored. It's there, always and nothing or no one could change that no matter how much grace they use or time the spend on healing you.

There is no way around it.

So Crowley was actually just re-opening wounds in search of that darkness and he was finding it as Dean slowly opened up under his careful management and this little torture session seems to be doing wonders. It even reminded Dean of times he spent as a student and how he tortured souls on the rack using every method that was ever known to man and demon.

And in the start, Crowley was aware that there was wonderful turmoil that left him confused afterwords. And Alastair practically jumped on those moments with a sadistic pleasure. Crowley won't do that. No he'll be tender if need be. Gentle and all the while coaxing Dean to open up for him. Submit. Turn and let Crowley have things his way.

The carpeted floor underneath him was soggy and soaked with blood as every cut Crowley made spilled just a bit more. The man was still pleading and screaming and Dean stopped reacting to that seconds ago. Crowley was disgusted though with the loss of bodily functions, this was part of the reason why he preferred deal making over torture. He couldn't see how Alastair or even Dean could stand it. It was so messy and soiling.

But, this had to be done.

Stopping momentarily he listened to the wife calling out for her husband. For help. For mercy. Crowley smiled.

“So tell me, Eric. What's your wife's name? How long have you been married?” Crowley decided to ask questions. After all there was no reason to not be civil and talk to your unwilling guest.

The man didn't answer, bit his lip to stop himself. This time however, rather then just leaving Dean in silence he calmly thought out a question that Dean would be able to hear. _'What should I do next'_ though Crowley knows this already, but it would be best to have Dean answer. It was more entertaining that way.

Silence for a moment, Crowley frowned. The lack of an answer was unacceptable. Much to his shock though before he could demand an answer a quiet reply of, _'Cut it from him.'_ Made Crowley smile broadly. Crowley didn't grace that answer with a reply in return. He simply did what Dean suggested that he should do.

He proceeded cutting it from 'Eric' who spilt his guts about everything even down to what he had for breakfast this morning. Eggs, ham and toast. Tea instead of coffee, no doubt the mock-off bagged versions rather then the proper tea that Crowley liked to drink when he was in a mood for tea.

Beyond that he didn't ask anything else from Dean and Dean just slipped off into silence while Crowley worked steadily. He honestly did like the skill Dean's body had in memory, it didn't diminish over time like some people's skills would if they didn't practice for a while. It might be because it was honed in Purgatory or just because a part of Dean actually enjoyed what he did, was good at it. And Dean thinks this sometimes too, he doesn't tell Sam because this was a shameful little secret Dean keeps to himself.

Castiel probably knows, but the angel never did anything about it. No one did, and if they did they probably would have helped the closed up Winchester before Crowley got his hands on him. Leaving Dean alone and wide open to teachings from Alastair and in the mercy of Crowley. However merciful that might be, it all depended on who you ask.

Crowley manages to keep 'Eric' alive for about two hours before he succumbed to the open wounds and injuries Crowley inflicted on him and Dean was strangely silent and dare Crowley say, contemplative. Crowley simply wanted to ask for confessions, but didn't say or think a thing as he focused on bodily reactions that was both Dean's and in turn Crowley's.

Although to be honest, it was probably more so Crowley's and not because of the reactions of 'Eric' and what Crowley was doing but for the ways Dean was reacting to the situation and at times inadvertently assisting Crowley by giving advice and contemplative about what he was doing and why he was doing it and was it wrong. Was it himself or Crowley that caused such reactions. Crowley found that turmoil to be succulent to say the least.

And Dean started up again in his screaming and yelling and his demands when he felt what Crowley felt.

There was threats, pointless but threats all the same. Crowley had to stop and think about what he should do next with this new development. Crowley was by no means above necrophilia or forcing himself onto anyone, he wasn't a kind person after all. And he got to the rank he was in now by being the opposite of kind.

So if you asked him if he was above any of that, he would laugh at you and answer with an honest 'no' because he wasn't. He does what he wants, he always has been that way. Not so much when he was human. When he was human he was a drunken fool but still submissive to the rules and laws of where he lived. Though he did clash with people every now and again. Especially his boy.

When he lost his humanity it got worse and now he doesn't do what he used to do as a human. He doesn't submit and accept second best.

Taking the soul he simply set it in a nice handy little bag he had just in case he had to pick up a soul himself. Normally he would have kept it in his actual jacket but he simply transferred it to Dean's jacket for this situation. No problems there. Nothing was left in the desecrated room meant for an innocent and a corpse.

Crowley exited the room, pleased and dare he say aroused by the situation that was going on in his head during the entire situation. But who to relieve himself with and what to do then or where?

The sounds of whimpering and screams and pleads for help only gained a cruel smile from Crowley and a pleading of 'please no' from Dean. Casually he walked towards the room. He won't harm a hair on her head. But the rest of her, well that was up for grabs. And he was fully prepared to use this as the final breaking point for Dean who pleaded for this to not happen.

Crowley had to be cruel to be kind. To free that darkness and in turn Dean, he will be cruel.

Crowley opened the door and whistled for his hound to get off the bed leaving her to sit up in fear. Instinct drove her to the rightful conclusion of what was going to happen and what happened in the other room. Her hands were on her swelling belly and her chest in a vain attempt to protect herself.

Crowley smiled widely at her as she scuttled back.

All the while Dean screamed and pleaded with Crowley as though he was in her place. Next will come anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying this story too much now... lol
> 
> And again, like every chapter since Crowley showed up I appreciate Twinsarein going over in making sure Crowley is Crowley. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could very well be described as non-con is present in this chapter... My first attempt at a boyxboy or should I say demonXhuman coupling in the SPN fandom, I wrote boyxboy in other fandom's just never really non-con, dub-con maybe but not non-con. So ya... Just giving you a heads up.

Dean once more found himself in his own mind, blocked from seeing more and knowing more as Crowley left the house. But the damage was done and Dean found himself nearly hyperventilating. It didn't mean a thing that he was in his own mind, and not in control of his own body and lungs. He was still hyperventilating on all four's. Closing his eyes he couldn't block out the screams and gargled noises coming from the poor soul that was 'Eric' who one day would become a demon, if he was lucky. There was worse things for a soul in Hell then to become a demon.

Looking at his hands he could swear he see's blood. Eric's blood. And to make matters worse, he heard his Tea-Tormentor from his stint in Hell's advice echoing around him and followed by Crowley just as easily as Dean may have followed those teaching words. And Dean always listened, always. He was raised to be obedient and Alastair took advantage of that. Heaven tried to take advantage of that.

And to make matters worse, far worse was that he himself offered his own advice when asked for it. Dean in a sense was an accomplice in the torture and breaking and eventual murder of 'Eric' who sold his soul to the worst demon you could make a deal with. Dean knows for a fact that Crowley always stalks things in his favour, it was what got the demon so far up in rank.

But him being an accomplice wasn't even the worst bit.

The worst part of it was the fact that Dean despite his pleading and his begging felt at ease with what was happening. Which he knows is wrong, but it was as it was. Dean was good at what he did in Hell and that killed him. It was dangerously normal for him to feel a knife in his hands as well as other tools that he suggested techniques for Crowley to use with them and it felt dangerously normal to have a rack in front of him.

He had one in front of him for ten years, Dean never thought he would have to see one again. He hoped and foolishly prayed. And yet it was there.

Crowley enjoyed it too much and Dean felt crushed by it. And to think, back during the Apocalypse Crowley seemed almost human at times despite being a demon, but that was just a ploy. Dean knows that now, Crowley is a demon through and through who can torture and hurt others as easily as any other demon could. Crowley was just that good at putting on different masks like a chameleon can change it's colours.

Swallowing he forced his way to his feet and took a deep breath, even though he knows it's not needed due to not controlling his own lungs but it was something you just can't get ride of. Opening his eyes he found himself instantly confused with the settings. Normally he would be in the workshop with memories playing at random and Crowley coming to visit him to get information on that particular memory.

But now it was different. Just a bedroom. Nothing sharp hanging from the ceiling or no secret things meant to cause him pain. Or at least he doesn't see any. It was just a bedroom that Dean seen in movies where rich characters used. Everything seemed to be finely made and with good quality. A television was set up on a television stand at the foot of the bed. Dean cautiously searched the room for anything that could be used.

Nothing.

This was just a room. And Dean hated how it put him at ease because he was no longer surrounded by his memories or the workshop he called home for ten years. It was just a room. There was an empty liquor cabinet to his left and a dresser to the right. Not including what looked to be the closet.

Dean hurried to the door and tried to open it, knowing it would do nothing because this was just a detailed thought and Dean wasn't in control of his own body, he would know if he was. Somehow. And like he figured, the door didn't budge. So he moved to the window and wished he didn't. As soon as he opened the blinds he saw...

Hell.

What he remembered it to be. What he remembered seeing when he first got there. Just black smoke, chains and echoed screams and pleads for some help that will never come. It was hot and it was cold, crushing and empty. There was no words that Dean could really use to explain it.

And he saw himself hanging, screaming for Sam. For someone to help. Anyone.

Dean suddenly felt angry, so very angry. And Dean couldn't really explain where that anger was coming from, it was just there.

For thirty years he suffered!

For ten he lost who he was!

Then, then he was dragged out of a bad situation into another bad situation and lost his brother for it. Dragged out to be used as nothing more then a personally tailored suite!

And now...

And now he was here in a room and in his own mind at the mercy of Crowley. Crowley who tortured someone who was probably just desperate to make a bad situation go away, not knowing or understanding the price that goes along with making a deal with a demon. Even if you do get ten years or whatever the demon decided to give.

And Dean despite his guilt and the shame, felt a vicious edge to him that didn't care. That told him it was the man's fault for making the deal in the first place. Just like it was Dean's fault for making a deal and settling for a year. Dean used to not consider bothering with people who made deals, but Sam did care and they tried. And failed.

And here Dean was.

Dean wondered if this was what his father foresaw in his life. Would his father have warned Sam about Dean instead? Or would he have tried to stop all of this from happening? Closing the blinds Dean blocked out the sounds of his own screams that fell silent with the blinds closing.

What should he do?

What could he do?

Why?

Dean paced the room like he was a caged animal for some time. Memories of the day replaying on the television and Dean found he couldn't bring himself to stop it. He watched his body torture a man to death. Dean offered advice. And Dean had to face it, he was good at that job as much as he wanted to hate that fact it was true. Dean was trained by the best who was also the worst to be the one to wield the knife against you.

The man was dead and Dean wanted to curl into himself as he watched himself stalk towards the bedroom. He knows what's going to happen next and Dean, well Dean was broken because of it. There was nothing worse then what his body, what he in a backwards sense, did. There was no going back from that.

There was no forgetting or getting over or getting forgiveness for it.

Dean shut the television off. He was surprised that it worked so well and he wasn't forced to watch the next part. The part that left him disgustingly frustrated and self-loathing in his anger. It wasn't fair.

“Somebodies in a foul mood.” Crowley's voice said from behind him, and beside the bed. Dean's devastated mind reset back to anger as he brought himself face to face with the smirking demon with his back towards the television as he now stood at the side of the bed where Crowley stood in a frustratingly relaxed state.

“Do you blame me! You, you tortured someone in my body! You ra... She was pregnant! You murdered a couple during a time in their lives that should have been happy! In my body!” Dean snarled angrily, his body stiffening in his anger and his common sense left him because it wasn't really the smartest thing to be face to face with a demon at this point when Dean was bluntly disrespecting him.

Still that didn't take away the fact that Dean wanted to hurt Crowley. He wanted... He wanted something he shouldn't want. Everything was becoming increasingly messed up and Dean felt powerless to stop it.

Where was someone who could help him? Where was Sam or Cas when he needed them!

Crowley only smiled, his grin widening at each word Dean spoke and Dean seethed at the fact that nothing he said seemed to get a proper reaction out of the demon when Dean sought to anger him or push him to either leave or something. Anything to change his situation, and to make Crowley stop.

Screaming came through the window, causing him to jump and turn towards it so that it was in his view rather then the demon who stood close to him. The blinds were closed so he was saved from having to see anything horribly wrong because he recognized that scream. That helpless scream that he heard before. Not even that long ago. The scream of a woman pleading with De-Crowley to have mercy. To stop. To please stop. To not do what he-Crowley was doing to her.

A firm grip on his wrist caused him to jump and turn his attention back towards Crowley who was now holding his wrist and pulling him back to the end of the bed in order to stand in front of the television and Dean's stomach dropped in a dread that could drown the strongest of people.

“Wh...” Dean started to ask without even thinking. Why should he ask anything of Crowley, he doesn't answer anyway. And Dean figures he knows what's going to happen next anyway.

“You think it was me who raped that poor girl? Love, let me tell you something. It wasn't, I only guided your hand at that point it seemed you were awfully stressed and needed a way for it to be released.” Crowley corrected and Dean felt like he was punched in the stomach as the wind left his lungs leaving him gasping and shaking his head in disagreement. He couldn't do something like that! Not now, not since everything happened since he was pulled from Perdition by Castiel.

“No... No you're wrong. I'm not in the business to inflict pain anymore... I wouldn't have done that, she was pregnant.” Dean desperately pointed out and Crowley simply shook his head in mild disappointment that echoed disagreement. With a sigh and a snap of the fingers the television turned on and Dean had to watch what happened to her as though someone video tapped it. There was no sound coming from the television, but there didn't have to be.

The sounds were in his mind. And Dean nearly gagged. Dean tried to turn away, tried to deny what was happening and tried to fight against it. But he couldn't. He was stunned to be still and watch. Helplessly. Another snap of the fingers, this time making him jump and the television was off. He was thankful that he didn't have to watch more of that. That he didn't have to hear those sounds in his mind anymore.

He found himself face to face with Crowley again. His back towards the bed and Crowley between himself and the television that showed such an awful thing to him. Dean made eye contact and couldn't break it, why couldn't he break it. The demon smiled wickedly.

“I wouldn't have done that.” Dean pushed, his desperation was more quiet this time around. He felt like he wanted to cry. And Dean hated the fact that it seemed like he couldn't control what he was feeling and what was going on. He just loathed all of this! But here he was as defenceless as he was when he was first strung up after Lilith fetched her prize. His soul.

He wouldn't have done that. Not really anyway.

“Sorry love, it is what it is.” Crowley's said, Dean barely heard him. He was stressed and his mind was frustrated and Dean just didn't know what to do now. There was no one here to save him, to tell him that Crowley was wrong. No one but himself and Crowley. And to make matters worse it felt like something was shattering, in him or around him. But it was shattering and Dean was helpless to make it stop.

It felt like he was dying a slow death at a faster rate then last time he felt like this. At the cruel guidance of Alastair. Dean didn't even realize that Crowley chuckled or that his firm grip on Dean's wrist turned soft and almost gentle. Dean wanted someone to help, and needed someone to save him from this situation.

He was desperate.

So desperate he couldn't even bring himself to go against the demon who lowered him gently onto the bed and sat beside him. Dean found himself on his back and staring up at the ceiling, faintly in a broken thought he wondered why there was a mirror?

No one could save him, could they? Dean doubted now that anyone knows that he was in need of help. No one would know what helpless state he was driven to or how shamed he was that he couldn't fight harder against it or that he didn't fight longer then he did.

Dean closed his eyes and ignored a gentle touch. Gentle touches were both a blessing over cruelty towards him in his state and it was worse then a knife against his throat. Dean didn't have to have his eyes open to see what was happening as he felt bared to the demon and a gentle touch that became more and more possessing despite it's gentleness.

“Oh...” Dean couldn't have stopped that reaction if he wanted to, but did he and could he were two separate things that Dean couldn't bring himself to truly focus on right away. With that thoughtless reaction he ended up opening his eyes again to find Crowley kneeling beside him. One hand resting against the area near his head and his other in more obvious places on his body. Dean found himself needing more of that, it felt better then the despair he was feeling. His hips jolted upward in order to gain more friction.

Dean didn't want to see the smug look on Crowley's face so he kept his eyes locked on himself in his increasingly needy state, needy and broken. This must be how Crowley likes them. And Dean couldn't bring himself to dwell on that, he didn't want to. Was almost desperate not to and he hated himself for this.

“There is no shame in this, your body needs this. You obviously need it more.” Crowley calmly, quietly said. Dean could feel the heat from Crowley's breath as he said those words. Dean huffed lightly, disagreeing but not able to voice it as his body kept reacting to that touch. Instead his legs spread as a clear thoughtless invitation. An invitation to take from Dean and to take away something else.

Dean was tired. There was no question about that. Tired, wrong and desperate. He didn't fight Crowley as the demon took his place between Dean's legs. Accepted his invitation with selfish desires that Dean arched up into. All the touches were gentle caresses that only made it worse and Dean found himself gripping and clinging to Crowley and wordlessly begging for more of that touch. Dean hated how much he needed that now.

And the second his lips were claimed, he was lost. Up to this point he was devastated and needy and now he felt like he hit the bottom. Dean wanted to sob for reasons that aren't completely clear to him at the moment so instead he did what he would regret doing at another time. He kissed back.

Every touch he reciprocated to. The fact that this was happening in his mind, in Crowley's created room no longer occurred to him as desires and arousal took it's place.

Dean found himself panting and nearly vocalizing what he wanted from where he laid underneath Crowley. His body being used as a vessel for Crowley and he was used for a carnal reasons. And as much as Dean hated to say and wanted to deny, it felt good. Every touch left him tingling with more need and more want.

“Please...” Dean muttered, not what he would normally say or admit to but he needed more now.

“Please what?” Crowley viciously hissed into his ear and Dean almost whimpered as he was denied it without asking for it. Could that be considered cruel? Dean's wrists where held against the bed now in order to stop him from taking what he needed, not that he would have been able to.

“More... Please.” Dean was powerless to do anything but answer even as he arched his body against the demon restraining him, taking him and using him.

“More of what darling?” Crowley pushed, obviously enjoying the moment. Dean felt like something was letting go, something he should have held onto somehow in some way. But, he needed this. Whatever this was.

“Take me... Whatever you want... Just, anything... _Please_...” Dean found himself whimpering as he forced his hips up against Crowley's while ignoring the snap somewhere in him and the victorious expression that mingled with a smug and self-satisfied look. Dean was...

Lost...

~Crowley~

Crowley couldn't have been more pleased with the outcome of the situation he set up in his mind. He wasn't going to claim the last ounce of Dean in the memory of a workshop where he was nearly claimed by Alastair, no Crowley was better then that. So he thought up a rather toned down classy room that was half the size of what Crowley would normally prefer but it did it's job and Dean shattered like a fragile porcelain doll.

And it was beautiful.

Crowley calmly drove down the road, an unfamiliar number kept calling but he already knows from Dean that it was the vampire he came back from Purgatory with. Crowley ignored it. It was of no consequence to him what the vampire did or who he was. Not when things were coming across nicely.

All the while the taking of Dean Winchester kept replaying in his mind while Dean's mind slumbered on.

_“Take me... Whatever you want... Just, anything..._ Please _...” Dean whimpered and Crowley felt a surge of victory as a grin worked it's way up, as much as Crowley wanted to he couldn't contain his own glee. The great Dean Winchester was now pleading with him and offering himself up to Crowley._

_So that just left one thing for Crowley to do with the moment was take what was so kindly offered to him. He didn't prepare the human withering underneath him in both pleasure and broken despair. He just aligned himself and took what was his now to take._

_The first scream was of pain and Crowley moaned lowly. He didn't move, you couldn't go hurting who you are going to twist completely. It would backfire. Not when you wanted their despair and desperation to override the pleasure. Pleasure could be as great of a tool as pain, if not more of a tool that was useful. It was something that was used against him and no doubt against everyone who got used to the pain over time._

_So he waited and let the pain even out before moving again. The age old motion of in and out took over soon after, hard and claiming. Crowley didn't give Dean an inch to try to think or move against the situation. Just left him gasping and moaning for more. The odd whimper of pain that disappeared the longer this situation carried on._

_Crowley huffed out in amusement when legs wrapped around his hips, a silent plea for more. And with Dean making that move so readily, who was Crowley to deny._

_He gave as much as he wanted to give with the situation while taking everything from Dean._

It would be an understatement at this point to simply say that Crowley was pleased with the situation at hand. He was ecstatic. And honestly, he didn't think Dean would have given in so early but it just goes to show that more damage was done to the human then most would have expected and no one saw to it's healing. Just fixed him up to use and abuse him for Heavens sake or more correctly Michael's sake.

Currently Dean was sleeping like a babe, his mind exhausted from everything the poor boy had to go through since this journey began. And Crowley wasn't completely cruel to not let him rest. It helps though that his subconscious and consciousness was twisting around and changing in order to survive and adapt and unavoidably change. It was what had people surviving day to day torments or problems or pleasures. And it serves Crowley at the moment. How else do you think Demons are made? They were humans who adapt and change to become something else entirely.

Those who did not, well Crowley has a whole level of useless material and mindless broken drones to do with what he will.

Crowley left a pocket, a dream if you will that kept Dean's mind in the room. That was how all of this was done, through his memories and Crowley's dreams to hold it all in. Well, daydream is more likely. Humans do it all the time, only Crowley's was more vivid because of the soul squirming against him as a reaction of being in constant contact with something demonic like Crowley. And no, he did not corrupt Dean's soul and that deceivingly bright soul didn't corrupt him in return. Crowley just had to lower the inhibitions that would have stalled the awakening of that more interesting part of Dean.

It was all there already. Just like the darker edges of Dean's subconscious did just what Crowley told the poor boy he did, the woman didn't understand why this was happening to her or why her attacker seemed so unfocused in comparison to how Crowley first entered the room after the torture of her husband. Crowley only made sure the body functioned and moved in a smoother motion rather then jerky or faulty.

It was too bad he didn't have Castiel watching all his good work of putting Dean back together fall apart so readily. Crowley would have enjoyed the show of failure in the angel who crossed Crowley in ways no one was allowed to. Crowley will never forgive the wayward thing. Castiel should have known that if you take something from the pit successfully and put that being back together, the pit will never just leave or fade. It will always be there, no matter what. Crowley could testify to that personally.

Crowley faintly wondered how the cage didn't do the same as the pit considering they both at one time or another held a master at torture. Alastair, the chief torturer who resided in the pits by choice. And Lucifer, who was cast into the cage more then once and against his will. Crowley just had to sum it up to the occupiers of the pit and the cage. It was up to them to have things done and what things will be done.

As much as he would have loved to shape Dean personally now that he was broken down, he had to trust the boy's subconscious and the previous damages and twisting Alastair did. And not to mention the fact that Crowley purposely behaved kinder then normal at times, but only at key moments. For the most part Crowley was himself rather then an act to enact Stockholm syndrome in a fit of foolishness. He couldn't have Dean stuck to a lie.

And Crowley was one who preferred to use the truth, not very demon-like to be honest. If anything, it was almost angelic. Though he was far from anything filled with grace and ego's to match. Crowley just knows his enemy and how to think like one, it leaves his other enemies curious and wondering if Crowley was what he claimed to be. Unless you dump holy water on him, then it was a sure sign that he was demonic.

So now, Crowley was forced to gamble on his time consuming investment and for Crowley to start spending his time in other places that required his presence.

And almost as though it was by his will alone, the phone rang.

It was Sam. Crowley smiled widely.

And that was all it took to answer the phone and start up a conversation, allowing Sam to lead the direction. Key words were used on Sam's part to show in good faith that he was serious and that he wanted back in the game. There was apologies smeared in his tone and no doubt on his face, Crowley could picture that vividly thanks to Dean's knowledge. For the most part, Crowley kept up the image of Dean Winchester right down to key words to fit with the ones Sam was using. It was actually a clever little scheme the boys have going.

If only Sam knew what has been going on with Dean in the past week and a half. And how Dean was shattering through previous open wounds from Alastair and Purgatory to wounds created and twisted by Crowley. Alastair made it too easy to re-shatter his prized student. But that was okay, that was the point no doubt should Alastair succeed in getting his toy back.

Crowley purposely didn't use some of the key words near the end of the conversation to draw out the suspicion in the youngest Winchester. All to make his mind start thinking up those what-if's that will lead to him trying to get Dean back and rescue his big brother. If he played his cards right, and most of the time Crowley does. Then Sam would think the previous key words were tortured out of Dean somehow, and he wouldn't be entirely wrong there.

The act on Sam's part was kept up but his own key words were now gone telling Crowley that Sam knows something is up. Eventually they bid each other farewell until they meet up in the next town. By some miracle they weren't too far off from each other.

Crowley used his own phone to contact the demons to have them move the body within five hours from now.

Crowley will play his part now until he gets his own body back and then the next step would be in fact Dean's through his own will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long... I hope it's okay.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam Winchester, youngest son of John and Mary Winchester. Younger brother to Dean Winchester who he fought to be like, a typical trait for younger siblings to want to be like their older brother. The only difference was the circumstances in their lives and the traits he wanted to pick up.

The Winchester name was now more like the gun's name. They were weapons, hunters. Killers. And everyone who was a hunter and a supernatural being knows it. It was a reputation built up over time starting with John Winchester who wasn't actually the first hunter in the family. Mary Winchester was a hunter in her younger years, and her side of the family.

Turned out that being a hunter was in their blood.

The Campbells were hunters, all of them as far as Sam could see. They might have been half decent, or at least as half decent as hunters could be. Well that was before they had to work for Crowley, then they were corrupted and wrong. No longer family, but targets. He just didn't fully know that at the time. To Sam they were a means to an end, a distraction you could say while he had no soul. Just like how letting Dean get turned into a vampire was a means to an end.

And the world kept turning. Somehow.

The Winchester side was no better at this point in Sam's mind.

And he knew all to well what it means to be born as a Winchester you would be born into a mixed up and broken family that was more like a small army a times instead of a family. It meant that you would have to learn to be a fighter or you would end up getting killed by something along the way. Something Sam had done to him, the something was human though just like him. To be a Winchester you would have to know how to clean a gun, load and shoot a gun. You would have to know about what kills what and not hesitate. It also meant you had destiny screwing around with you from day one.

That was what it meant to be a Winchester.

To be fair though, there was so many good things to go with it too. Things that made being a Winchester worth the pain. Like having a brother who would kill and die for you. Willing to raise you even though it wasn't what a brother should be doing. Having a brother who put you first no matter how many times you were an ass and threw it back in his face. And Sam, well he knows he screwed up so many times when it came to Dean.

He ran away so many times. And every time he did, Dean had to pick the pieces up. Always.

Sam ran away to Stanford, got himself some education at a collage level. Met the love of his life, the first love of his life. Jess. Sam would have given her everything if he could. But because of who he was, he just gave her death in the end. He regretted that and hoped she was riding the good memory lane up in Heaven. Sam wondered if he was apart of her Heaven?

He regretted running away now, at least to some degree. But Sam didn't regret meeting Jessica, how could he? She was the kindest person he could have ever met. So genuine it was painful to lie to her about his past.

Sam also ran away after Dean was dragged to Purgatory with Castiel. A thing that he felt guilty for, but he was so broken from what his own insanity did to him and when he didn't see any sign of Dean or Cas then he lost it. Snapped and it took him some time to put the pieces together again and this time move on with his life.

Not out of selfishness. Or at least that's how he's going to consider it. He hopes that Dean will eventually accept this or just leave it as one of those let's not talk about so we don't get into another fight physical or not.

But he couldn't do it again, when Dean was dragged to Hell Sam made choices that hurt everyone in the end. He didn't want to repeat that and was so afraid that he would. But at least then there was a body, and there was Ruby who distracted him. And she did a wonderful job at it, it was what she was meant to do. That and get him addicted to demon blood. Something he still has a taste for once in a while. It would be best to explain it as the temptation's a recovering alcoholic would get to drink or the sensation ex-smokers would get in certain situations. Sam would never just be over it.

But Sam was stronger now so he could fight it.

Only in his fighting that and his insanity and broken person he failed to be a brother. Dean in his own way made it clear that Sam wasn't a failure, even when they came to blows that caused them to split up for a time Dean made sure Sam didn't feel like a failure. Sam always had a way to read between the lines with what Dean was saying.

Sam waited in the rental car for Linda Tran and Kevin Tran. He was picking them up from the hiding spot they used, thankfully before Linda could do a stupid thing like hire a witch or something else along that line. They agreed to go with him because believe it or not Sam needed back up to make sure whatever demon was possessing his brother could be extracted successfully. And Kevin knows how to make holy water while Sam creates the devil trap and a few back up ones. For dealing with demons you couldn't do it alone, especially when you're just a hunter who's not juiced up and who hasn't hunted anything for a year.

Sam wasn't at his highest levels of efficiency like ye was before he snapped because of his insanity. And Sam hides that fact well, but don't think that he was incapable. He was still a hunter with years of experience. A force to recon with.

And Sam, well he had a goal that he could become single minded on. One that always got him to be set on.

Saving Dean.

He failed to save him from going to Hell. He failed to get him back from Hell. He failed to fight for him and try to get him back from Purgatory. Yes Sam admits that there was plenty of times he successfully saved his big brother. But the main failures were the worst ones and they stuck out in his mind and left him awake at night to a point he has to do something. Research, tend to his weapons and re-familiarize himself with them.

And he hated how good they felt in his hands.

Just goes to show that he was a hunter through and through. Sam wondered if his Father would be happy with this outcome, and Sam had to fight off a sneer that was so familiar to him.

Sam gave them the basic greeting before driving off. Linda sat shotgun while Kevin sat in the back, Sam could see more years on the kid now then when they first met. A fact that Sam regretted for the boy's sake. But that was what this life or the life of a prophet costs. You either have to live with it or die trying. There wasn't any middle ground here, if there ever was.

He let them get comfortable as he drove to the place where he informed the person on the other line to meet them. His mind travelled as soon as it was safe to do so. All of which was good memories. Most of which involved himself and Dean. Which brought him to the memory of the last phone call he had with Dean. When they were kids, after he learnt what their Father really did they came up with key words without John's prompting.

It was fun. Just the two of them laying on a bed with Sam's notebook. They came up with some joke ones too, Dean's centred around burgers and pies mostly.

The key words for burgers and pies were no longer used. Another piece of their innocence lost somewhere along the way. Sam now finds that he missed it and a lump formed in his throat, one he had to swallow down before he lost himself. He couldn't do that here and now, he had something he had to do. Someone he had to save. A purpose.

With all those good memories Sam just thought about brought him back to reality in an unforgiving way. The harsh reality of real life and what happened last time he saw his brother.

The fight he had with Dean, the one that made him storm out and take off. He caught a bus and everything. Got as far away from Dean as he could. Ran away. Again. And Sam stayed away from Dean for a week and half. And no phone call, not to see if Sam was okay or to bitch at him. Nothing. That was unusual. In the beginning, Sam was too angry to take the initiative and see if Dean was okay.

Now he wished that he did.

The last conversation everything started out okay, Sam made his promises of getting back in the game of hunting and trying to seal the doors of Hell to keep the demons in and save a lot of people in the meantime from having to suffer being vessels to those abominations. Dean or who he thought was Dean behaved as expected. Sam got bitched at, insulted and forgiven.

Now he doesn't know if Dean actually forgives him because near the end of the conversation the key words they spent so long in thinking up and memorizing disappeared from the conversation. Sam poked a bit to see if Dean was just forgetting to say them, old comforts but that wasn't right. Dean never does that especially if they didn't speak for over a week. A day or two then it was normal for key words to be dropped near the end but not if it was a week and a half. Dean wasn't sloppy in that regards.

All of this confirmed what Sam knows from that one conversation, which was the reason for Linda and Kevin being with him. He could protect them and he could use them for help when it comes to saving Dean.

Sam frowned.

New fears crept in and whispered horrible thoughts into his ears. What would have happened to Dean in order to get those cherished and protected key words out of him. Sam knows that it's a demon, it has to be. But if it's something else, what would it be? Who could it be?

“Sam?”

Looking into the rear view mirror the second he heard his name he looked at the reflection of Kevin Tran, the boy who was thrust cruelly into a life he never wanted. Sam could sympathize. He truly could. Because Sam didn't want the hunter life, never did. But he could never deny the results of him being a hunter. People got saved. The family business was one that saved lives just as much as it took lives away. Lives of monsters that are poorly misrepresented in the media. Dean and him used to laugh at the movies and television shows when the caught a movie here and there.

Times were easier then.

Kevin Tran was a prophet of the Lord and the only one who could read the words of God, angels couldn't even read those words. Sam had the Prophet, Crowley had the tablet. It was a stalemate between the two of them. They both had what the other needed. Sam was determined to get the tablet from Crowley it just wasn't as easy as he made it sound.

Linda Tran who refused to leave her son's side now. Not that it would be safe to leave anyway. Crowley wasn't above kidnapping to get what he wants and Linda would be a perfect object to use as bait for the demon because he knows it would work. Kevin would do what he can and everything he can to get his mother back. Sam would be forced to help, they both would be in over their heads because Crowley wasn't stupid.

Crowley was a demon who proved to be the most cunning and was considered to be the biggest threat then all of the other enemies they faced. Sam knows this because Crowley was a temporary ally so he would know the in's and out's of both Dean and himself. Crowley didn't underestimate like everyone else did. And he was just as petty as Zachariah or more so.

Sam knows that Kevin picked up the shifts in Sam's voice while he was speaking, the kid was a genius and observant. He may not know what exactly was wrong, but Sam knows he suspects something. Sam wondered how the two of them was going to react when he tells them that something was wrong, something was wrong with Dean who was on his way here.

They would be angry. They could be concerned for Dean, maybe. But Kevin remembers when Dean was willing to kill Crowley in his mother. Dean was high strung still from Purgatory. Sam was just shocked by his willing brutality. But thankfully that didn't happen. Sam was grateful for that. He didn't know what would have happened with Dean or Kevin and his mother. All he knew was that it was no doubt not going to be pretty.

“We need to talk, all three of us.” Sam said, not answering the unspoken question of 'whats wrong' and 'are you okay' that Sam heard in Kevin's address to him. Both of them staring at him while he drives. Though to have this conversation it probably would be best to pull over but they didn't have the time. Sam kept driving instead. He trusted his instincts when it comes to driving, he was good at it and has done so longer then most get their license. Dean even longer then he has, though Dean loves to drive. It was one of those things that gave Sam the gift of honest happiness. Put on some AC DC, put the windows down and let the world pass them by in the car that was home. The Impala.

“What's wrong Sam?” Kevin asked, moving forward from the back seat enough to gain his answers. Sam ignored that but heard the question. Linda who was in the passenger seat took more notice the second she heard the honest concern coming from Kevin. One more thing about Kevin that made Sam feel guilty for not helping him sooner. Another thing Sam failed at. Wisely she didn't say a word yet until she had more information. She was a sharp one and smart to use that to her advantage. Sam respected that.

How can he word the fact that his brother might have been compromised possibly by enemy number one? Inwardly flinching at the notion of his brother, who he looked up to for so long, as being compromised. It wasn't fair! It was wrong and Sam felt like he was going to drown in guilt. It was his fault, he shouldn't have ran away like he did. He should have stayed in the same town, should have followed his brother even if they weren't on speaking terms. He should have...

“Sam? Speak to us.” Linda said, a mother knows when someone was losing themselves. Even if she wasn't Sam's mother she had a son so son and she had instincts so she knew. Sam silently thanked her before focusing on the two of them.

“Got off the phone with Dean. He's coming here, now.” Sam started to explain. Stating the easiest part of the information first because of his guilt he wasn't quite ready to say out loud that Dean was a risk now because something got to him. Broke him perhaps or possessing him. So he was giving him a last few seconds to brace for saying it. That might be weak, but Sam was okay with that. He wasn't the way he used to be, though Sam knows better then most that he could be as ruthless as Dean was willing to be when stressed.

He was on a verge of being overly stressed and was almost willing to fall back on a ruthless autopilot that would chase these two away no doubt. The one thing keeping him distracted from that was the driving, good thing he didn't pull over when he considered that option.

“That's good isn't it?” Kevin asked, doubt clearly heard and understood in his words and Sam took one last breath to brace himself. One last before the gates were opened and a new situation that needed to be dealt with is on him.

“No. Dean has been compromised. Best chances are, by a demon. There's not many supernatural things out there who would go straight for Dean when it's well known that Crowley's after us, they're nasty but not always stupid. So best shot is, is that it's one of Crowley's demons.” Sam stated, coldly in order to withstand the words coming from his own mouth. He practically spat the words 'compromised' and 'demon' out while he said it. The thought of those words being in the same sentence as his brother had old anger swelling up in him. He'll use that to battle off the guilt. It would be required in order to do what is necessary.

“What!” Linda snapped and Sam couldn't stop himself if he wanted to, he glared at her for the tone of her single word. The accusations floated in the air and Sam seethed at all of them. She retreated slightly in body language but as stubborn as she was she didn't back down.

“We had key words going on since I was eleven years old. Dean and I came up with them ourselves on a rainy day and the power was off. During my conversation with Dean about a third of the way into it the key words disappeared. So I stopped using mine and that means something is wrong, but no warning words were used that tells me that Dean's in trouble.” Sam explained now ignoring Linda for a time to explain the situation.

The memory of sitting on a bed with his big brother played out in his mind.

_Sam enjoyed the idea that Dean suggested, something no doubt meant to keep him busy and not whining but Sam wasn't one to complain when he gets his older brother's attention. So he happily grabbed a notebook from his school bag and climbed back onto the bed beside Dean who let him get close so that they both had the notebook in front of them._

_He couldn't help but think that this was going to be so much fun because it was going to be something between his big brother and himself. No one else can know these words except for them. Though to be fair they might get a few to share with their Dad in case it was absolutely necessary. Sam hoped it wouldn't be._

“Then maybe he just decided to not use them anymore when he knew it was you.” Kevin pointed out. Successfully dragging Sam from his own thoughts as he stared at the road ahead of them, a faint hope but resignation there as well. Not for the first time Sam wished the boy didn't have to be in this life. But that was how it was supposed to be.

“If it was two days, then ya that's possible. But a week and a half, no he wouldn't drop it until he hangs up. It wouldn't be Dean otherwise. My brother is an ass and not all that friendly sometimes but he's not a careless hunter unless he has a death wish or doesn't care about his own well-being. Dean could be vicious in his hunting. So not saying key words that's been there since I was eleven years old would be a novice mistake and Dean isn't a novice.” Sam explained, he knows his brother and he was willing to fight anyone who thought otherwise. Granted since Dean got back from Purgatory they weren't exactly on the best of terms. It felt worse then when Dean got back from Hell this time.

If things go right in this situation, Sam will fix that as best that he can. He just wants his brother back, that's all.

“So then what do we do?” Kevin asked, again his voice giving away the fact that he had a good idea.

Sam knows what they're going to do. Because this was what needed to be done. Sam knows that demons have a weakness for Holy Water, the only one who seemed to withstand it to some extent was Alastair as to where Azazel wasn't effected at all. But those weren't your black eyed every day demon. Or red eyed for that matter.

“We'll need to get to the spot I said we're going to meet as quickly as we can. Set it up so there's only one way in and out. Salt the windows, chimney and back door. Devil traps on the ceiling and floor, but we can't have those visible so we'll have to set it up so we can hide them successfully. Holly water would be required. And if Dean truly is possessed like I figure, then he's going to know all the tricks and then some so we'll have to play it smart.” Sam explained, it went unsaid that they needed holy water but by the looks on both of their faces they already know this. Kevin would probably take up that task of making holy water. Linda and Sam would draw up the devil traps. Sam would take care of the ones on the ceiling.

“So we're going to force the demon out of Dean? If there is one.” Linda pointed out, stating the obvious. Sam nodded. That was exactly what they were going to do. And Sam knows every exorcism by heart now. Backwards and forward, he knows what to do with each.

There was going to be no debates about that. Sam was a Winchester and so he was stubborn.

Sam nodded firmly.

“That's exactly what we're going to do.” Sam confirmed a few minutes later. There was a time when Dean would have done the same for anyone rather then just kill the demon and in turn the vessel who had the misfortune of being possessed. The Colt and Ruby's knife both ended up becoming more of a curse then a gift. There was so much blood on both Dean's and his own hands now because of those weapons. Sure the demons were dead and that's good, but the humans were dead as well.

No one said anything else, rightfully said. They must have heard it in his tone that he wasn't joking around and this wasn't up for debate. Though they were good people so they would naturally want to help especially now that the know what's out there. What goes bump in the night and sometimes during the day as well. And it wasn't really like they had a choice, they needed Dean to close the gates of Hell. He was one of the best hunters out there and to do a job this big you need the best.

For a moment Sam considered pulling Benny the damned vampire into this job but Sam didn't trust him and still didn't like the fact that he was brought back with Dean. After all the holier than thou preaching about not befriending supernatural beings Dean goes and does the same thing.

Cas didn't count. Castiel was different.

Sam missed the angel but couldn't dwell on that. He had a job to do. With that set in his mind he pressed down on the gas pedal and sped up, hoping to make it to the building before Dean or whoever possessed Dean to set things up. No one said a word about the gained speed of the car, they weren't stupid after all and Sam wasn't in a mood to deal with it.

One thing was for sure, whether it was too late or not.

Sam wasn't running anymore.

He was a Winchester, a hunter and more importantly he was Dean Winchester's little brother.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam wondered and not for the first time how the situation got so out of hand like this. How he let it get out of hand so easily. Sam rubbed his face as he sat in a chair beside Dean's bed where he finally got his brother to settle down from nightmares that had him screaming out in his sleep.

Not for the first time he was thankful that the place they were using at the moment was secluded enough that Dean's screams won't wake the neighbours. Linda and Kevin on the other hand, they weren't getting that much sleep and he could see them send worried glances this way as they huddled close to each other.

Sam wondered if it brought back memories on Linda's part. Sometimes you could remember being possessed and other times you didn't remember anything because the demon put you to sleep more or less. It wasn't that way for Meg Masters who was possessed by Meg, she remembered everything and that no doubt caused a lot of guilt for Dean because Sam was there and saw the amount of damage done to Meg's body while possessed.

Would Crowley make Linda remember? Or would he just let her sleep? Crowley did know things about Linda and the plan. But whether or not that information was gathered through Crowley just possessing her or did he actually force the information out of Linda?

Either way, Sam's main concern was his brother at the moment and Sam couldn't stop the sense of accomplishment at a cautious level. He got his brother back, stole him back from Crowley. Somehow.

The only problem was the fact that Dean has yet to wake up.

Sam has yet to find the right words to greet his brother, properly this time. And to make sure he knows that Sam would be here for him and help him and together they will close the gates of Hell. Somehow. Normal life, that was going to have to be a thing of the past for now. Right now he had to do this.

Maybe this was the best way to redeem himself for what he's done during the time he had no soul. For not looking for his brother when he was dragged with Cas to Purgatory. Maybe closing the gates of Hell would be his final step in penance for everything that Sam made mistakes at. If it was, then Sam would fight for it because it was high time that he stood up for what's right and his own redemption because no one else could do that for him. And Sam would succeed, he knows that he can.

Sam wondered what Dean would think about that. Dean's opinion was always important to Sam, just like having his trust was.

“Is he going to be okay?” Kevin asked in a low voice that was barely above a whisper so he didn't disturb the finally gained quiet atmosphere that finally settled in the room. He obviously couldn't sleep considering the fact that he was up and asking Sam about Dean. Sam couldn't blame him for not sleeping though.

“Ya.” Sam answered with a short curt nod and turned away from the door enough to let him know that Sam wasn't in the mood to talk. He heard Kevin leave, Sam wondered what Kevin would do when they succeed. Would the kid go back to collage? Or hide away somewhere?

Sam crossed his arms and thought about the days events from this morning when it first started to now at four in the morning when he finally got Dean to settle down. It surprisingly took most of the day to get Crowley to leave Dean's body. Sam scowled angrily, angry at Crowley for both possessing Dean and fighting the exorcism the way that he has. He could have damaged Dean physically!  
The honest anger Sam felt rivalled the anger he felt towards Alastair. And that was not an easy thing to do when it came down to the details.

Both of them hurt Sam's big brother, and that was unacceptable. Just like it was unacceptable for anyone to hurt Sam in Dean's eyes. For too long he was the one always getting hurt, broken and beaten down. And Dean was the one picking up the pieces, pulling him up from the ground and forward. Even going so far as to sell his soul so Sam could live.

Now it was Sam's turn! And he won't fail. He couldn't, too much was actually riding on this. People don't always understand the bond between them. It was a powerful one and it was a dangerous one that can either disrupt other people's lives in ways that was unforgivable or it would and can drag one or both of them down faster then any enemy could.

Sam closed his eyes while letting his mind foolishly wonder for a moment and instead of a memory of his own Hell coming to him like it usually does when Sam doesn't have something to do or occupy his mind with. Instead it was a memory from today. And that possibly could be and was worse.

This was his brother. Not Lucifer, or Sam's own pain. But Dean who was so strong and so capable who was broken and possessed and dare he say shattered. Somehow, maybe. He foolishly hoped not. But he knows to expect the worst and it was now in Sam's nature to expect the worse while hoping for the best.

How things have changed.

Sam remembered the first interactions with the demon trespassing in Dean's body clearly.

_By some miracle they managed to get his possessed brother trapped and in the house. Sam had to play his part as caring little brother, the demon did the same. Instinct and the teachings of being a hunter helped finalize that realization in a heartbeat. And the usual tests at the bottom of the steps of the small porch the house came with._

_Sam baited him inside with the promise of pie and finishing the final test to see if he was a demon. A short glimpse of both concern and arrogance passed through his brother's stolen eyes. Sam didn't acknowledge it. Instead walked into the house, hyper aware of everything around him and especially of the demon behind him. His back bared, unprotected. A sign of mock ignorance and instant trust that was not there._

_It was a game to see who broke first before things came to pass._

Somehow Sam remembered after brief conversations, key words back in place which only provoked Sam's anger because of the meaning behind the routine of key words between himself and Dean. Either way it ended with the demon angry and cursing while it was trapped in a devil's trap. Flinching and hissing because of the holy water Linda splashed in it's face. On Sam's permission. He won't let either of them mess this up.

Or may God help them if they did.

Sam was still an angry person by nature. Always was, which was why he made the perfect suite for Lucifer to wear. He was angry, resentful and rebellious to his Father's words and his Father's way of life. Dean was the opposite, and that in itself made Sam angry. But don't you ever doubt the love he had for his big brother.

Dean was everything to him, his only family he had left. He had to hold onto that family because family was everything. To Dean. To himself. It was important and Sam was ashamed that he pretty much let that fact go somewhere. But no longer, he'll do what he can and salvage what was left. This time it would be him picking up the pieces.

Sam was okay with that.

Slowly exhaustion was setting in because exorcisms were naturally exhausting when you actually have to fight with the demon in order to get it out. And the temptation to use demon blood to make it easier was whispering in his ear, but Sam wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to go down that road again after what happened so many times and what Dean had to go through with him to get Sam clean.

At first he thought it was just a top ranking demon in Crowley's ranks. He was wrong.

_“You wouldn't believe the amount of information I got to learn about your big brother, there's so much that even you don't know about. Do you want me to go into details? Tell you all of Dean's secrets he kept from you?”_

That was all it took for Linda's expression to a familiar horror at the knowledge of who it was. Sam admired her for a moment for getting it in control and tucked away, though he still wondered just how much did she remember. The situation itself could have caused that familiar horror or she did in fact remember some of the possession or the aftermath of it due to the fact that Crowley rubbed Kevin's face in the fact that Crowley found something out that he didn't know concerning his own perceived father. Sam will one day ask her what she remembers.

It was none other then Crowley. The bastard demon who put himself as King. Sam knew his expression mirrored that rage when he gained a chuckle for it. Sam wouldn't be surprised if that same rage flashed through his expression right now despite the exhaustion that was setting in.

_Sam glared for all that it was worth. Not that it would cause any reaction other then amusement from Crowley. Dean was the only one who could really intimidate demons in a way that Sam was never able to. Not even when he was high off of demon blood. Sam wondered what was it about his brother that could do that. Even before Dean went to hell he made demons wary._

_But not Crowley._

_Crowley was too good and too arrogant to be cowed like normal demons. That was why he was the King of Hell. Because he didn't back down he just simply found ways around your usual obstacles or fail to get what he wants if history with Crowley was anything to go by. Well, as far as Sam was concerned there's always a first time for everything. And this time the fail wouldn't be something Crowley would be able to salvage like other times he made mistakes._

_This time Sam would make sure it's permanent._

_Words were exchanged after that. Idle threats and promises and Sam acknowledged that yes Dean had secrets, it was a Winchester habit after all._

_The exorcism started about half an hour after they got Crowley trapped._

_Linda and Kevin helped Sam distract Crowley from using any abilities he might still be able to use to get out of the devil's trap by breaking one of the edges. It wasn't easy and it was pissing the demon off. His eyes flashed red several times as he glared angrily, shaking in both pain from the holy water and unhinged rage._

_They had to take a break for a few moments because Sam didn't expect Crowley or any demon for that matter to put up this much of a fight. It's been a long time since that happened._

Sam remembered the taunting Crowley spewed out. Sam learnt that Dean actually had the audacity to try and force Crowley out of his body from the inside using no doubt a similar but shorter exorcism. It made him proud to know that Dean at least went down fighting. And now Sam was determined to pick him back up.

He hoped. He prayed that he would succeed.

Sam remembered with a clench in his chest what it looked to see a demon possess his brother. It was horrible! Everything was Dean but not Dean. At the start when they were playing their parts it was frustrating because of how much it was like Dean. But when the masks dropped the mannerisms and speech patterns weren't Dean's at all. He looked like Dean, his voice was Dean's rather then the British accent he was so accustomed to hear from Crowley. But it wasn't Dean!

To watch his brother's body pace the small circle of the devil's trap drawn a size smaller then normal to trap Crowley in tighter confines so he couldn't have room to stretch or take advantage of the breaks that had to be done. For Sam's sake, it was harder then it looked to remove a demon from it's vessel without seriously harming the vessel. Traumatizing on the other hand was guaranteed. He hoped Dean would forgive that part.

Nothing would ever prepare him for seeing a demon leave Dean's body like he's seen so many demons leave other vessels though. Nothing every would erase what he has seen today. And a part of him felt that it was worse then whatever Lucifer thrown at him in his angered tantrums over his failure to ruin the world.

_Sam kept praying, kept spewing the exorcism over and over again even as the red bellowing smoke of Crowley's true form collected above Dean's body. Dean's body went tight and every joint in his body seemed to be cracking from the stress being put on the body. Blood ran from Dean's nose and mouth from Crowley fighting so much._

_He was not letting go of Dean's body without a fight no matter the external damage it's no doubt causing. Maybe that was the point?_

_Sam watched as Linda and Kevin took a few steps back but remained in the ring of salt Sam put them in. He won't risk their safety, he couldn't. Not now that he was truly in the game again and trying to fix his mistakes. So he focused on the red smokey appearance of Crowley as he collected above Dean's body._

_Sam had to hurry it up though, he didn't want his brother to die of this exorcism which was known to happen to some vessels. Sam focused everything he had into every word he spoke. If he could use his own soul, damaged as it was to gain more power then he would. But he couldn't, that was impossible as far as he was aware._

_Sam wasn't paying attention to the time. Didn't care either when it came to what time it was. All he cared about was saving Dean. Rescuing Dean. Nothing was more important then that! Nothing._

_When the last of the demon exited Dean's body it immediately soaked through the ground, heading back to Hell. Like any other demon who was exorcised from it's host. Sam knows that it's only a temporary fix with Crowley, he could travel between Hell and Earth just as easily as Sam could walk in and out of that door. After all the doors were in a sense open. Not for long though, Sam was going to close them with Dean and the Tran's._

_Right now though, right now he had other things to worry about._

_Like Dean who instantly collapsed to the ground boneless. No reaction came from him and his breathing was at a minimal. Sam was just glad that he got his brother back as he collected the unconscious form of Dean and hugged him. Relief swam over his body as he clutched the body of his brother to him._

_He hoped that Dean would wake up soon._

_Sam had so many apologies to make._

_But for now, he felt like he won. For now, the fight wasn't over. Not by a long shot but for now this was a victory for the good guys._

Sam remembered it took about thirty minutes to get him to let go of Dean long enough for Kevin to help him get Dean into the bed where he was now slumbering. The nightmares that plagued Dean for the rest of the day and most of the night reminded Sam of the nights he woke up to Dean's screaming after he was brought back to life.

Back then he leaned on Ruby to help him deal with Dean's nightmares as well as other things. Eventually he became numb to the nightmares and it became the norm with them. That was a mistake! He should have helped his brother even if Dean put up a fuss about it. But he was going down a dark road and falling into an addiction with Ruby's help.

But Sam wasn't like that now so he'll do better this time. Sam was determined to be the one who helped Dean this time. It wasn't surprising now that he thought back on it, but it was Castiel who helped Dean back then. Often he would see Castiel run a finger down Dean's forehead and any internal battle Dean may have been going through that had him screaming or making sounds of pain would come to a stop.

_Sam rolled over to see what made things go quiet. Sam was used to the screams and pleading at this point. But much to his shock he saw the imposing presence of Castiel the angel he only met recently. He was torn about the angel now after things and situations became known. But still, the angel didn't seem like he'll be leaving their life anytime soon._

_Sam made eye contact with the emotionless angel standing dutifully beside Dean's bed. At that moment Sam felt like he was being studied and he felt so small. It was frustrating and it made him feel cornered._

_“He's sleeping better now?” Sam whispered, trying to ease his own discomfort that he suddenly felt with the angel._

_“He sleeps well now. For now.” Castiel answered calmly before disappearing from sight. Leaving just like that._

Now though, Sam was grateful. He understood why he felt the way he did too, listening to Ruby about angels and with his own mistakes. Anyone would have felt uncomfortable with him. Now Sam called Castiel a friend. And he was proud of that fact, friends weren't easy to come by in this line of work. Harder still to keep.

Looking at the clock it was now approaching five in the morning. Sam didn't sleep at all, he was too worried and decided to keep watch over Dean while he slept. It was the least Sam could do. Sam heard the sounds of someone cluttering around in the kitchen. No doubt it was Linda who was making some breakfast.

Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly before forcing himself to stand up and with an internal struggle he decided to go get himself something to eat and drink. He hasn't even had something to eat yet. So he probably should consider it. In an hour or two he would have no choice but to lay down to get some sleep as well. He just hoped that the worst was over for now. Or at least until Dean wakes up.

Stretching first Sam made his way to the kitchen, even his body felt tired. But that was okay, he can manage with that.

_Crowley never gave them enough of a break to eat anything. Instead every time Sam considered, he put up a fuss and Sam hissed inwardly at the frustration the situation was creating with dangerous ease._

_“You're going to leave Dean's body yet.” Sam promised angrily as he picked up where he left off._

“Sam you should be eating.” Linda said from across to him, not caring if Sam gave her a glare or not. She probably was used to people being stubborn with her. Sam didn't even realize he was staring at his plate until she said something. Probably due to him being tired, he was in other words zoning out. The stress of the situation left him feeling drained, but that was okay because Sam was used to feeling drained and tired. He'll manage. He always does.

With a sigh he polished off half of his coffee to wake him up enough so he wouldn't have such lapses of attention span like he has been so far this morning. Around them was hints and signs of what happened here yesterday. Sam shuddered inwardly at the knowledge that Dean has been through a lot while Sam sat back in his own pity party. He should have went to Dean sooner. He should have done something.

But he didn't.

But Sam was here now.

Eventually he did finish an entire plate of food, healthy stuff because he made that clear that he liked to eat healthy. Linda Tran had no problem with that, she was a mother. And Sam could respect that even though he never got to experience what it felt like to have a mother. But he remembered the stories Dean told him.

Focusing on his plate that was half empty sitting in front of him Sam let his mind wonder. Let a memory soothe him in a way that most couldn't.

Sam remembered that he wasn't feeling well, and when he didn't feel well he was clingy and well according to Dean a crybaby. But that didn't matter, in the end he always found himself curled against Dean and listening to stories or why pie was better then cake or about some television show Dean was enjoying at the time.

His favorite story was about his mother.

_“Dean, I don't feel well... Can you please tell me a story?!” Sam whined, looking up at his brother in a pleading look. The one he knows Dean can't fight against. Little brothers always had to have a weapon to get what they want! Dean didn't agree at first and avoided looking at him._

_But in the end Sam curled himself against Dean's side and ignored the television as his brother told him about what their mother looked like. What she sounded like. Dean even told him about the song their mother used to sing to Dean when he was sick. When Sam was really sick that he couldn't move, Sam remembered that song being sung by Dean and imagined what it would have sounded if their mother was the one singing it._

_Sam smiled up at his brother. Sam loved hearing about the stories. It was a moment where everything is going to be okay and is okay. They weren't in a hotel room. They weren't on the road a lot. Dad wasn't working all the time. And they were a proper family._

_Sam ends up falling asleep against his brother every time. Loved and safe._

Sam managed to snap out of it when Linda started to clean up, Kevin helped and Sam went to check the area around them and check on the Impala. Make sure Crowley didn't damage it at all. Nothing was out of place, no salt line showing breaks and the weapons were fully loaded.

Sam was taught how to look after the Impala before Dean was dragged to Hell the first time. It was a sweet and bitter time as they looked over the Impala's body from engine to the smallest detail. Dean was very thorough. Still it was a quiet moment that centred around himself and Dean.

Nothing else mattered at that moment. It was a memory to cherish despite the bitter truth hanging over their heads. Sam wondered if they were going to have any more like that? Would they be able to be old men like Bobby was? Sam picked up Dean's phone and checked the call history.

The unknown number kept coming up. Sam knows that it was the vampires number. Sam knows he shouldn't be so hard on Dean on the matter, but nothing would take away the fact that this was a vampire and everything they been through means you don't trust anything that isn't human.

Castiel being the exception. Or was the exception.

Putting the phone down on the passenger seat beside him Sam went through the routine movements of checking the interior of the Impala. Memories of so many good and bad times in this car. For as long as he could remember this car was home. Laughter. Cursing. Yelling. Tears. Comfortable and tense silence. Everything happened in this car.

People wouldn't believe Sam if he said that sleeping in the passenger seat was comfortable. Especially when you take Sam's height into account. But it was, which was probably why he was starting to doze off until a touch to his arm drew his attention. It was Kevin.

Frowning in question he looked at the prophet.

“He's awake...” Kevin said. That was all he had to say and all that he got the chance to say. Sam didn't waste any time getting out of the car and closing the door behind him. His destination was the house where he was told his brother was awake. Sam heard Kevin follow after him. Linda was talking to him, Sam could hear that.

He didn't hear Dean answer, but Sam will figure out how to handle that when he gets to that. Sam took the moment to take in everything as soon as he entered the house. Dean was already in the kitchen, where he no doubt heard the noise that Linda was making.

The first thing Sam did notice was how worn down Dean seemed to be, and confused. There was a lot of things that caught his attention after that and gained his concern for Dean.

“Dean.” Sam said, catching Dean's attention. A look of hope crossed his face and that was enough for Sam to make his way to his older brother and catch him in a tight hug. Everything he's been feeling finally catching up with him as he clung to Dean who hugged back after a few seconds. Letting the chick flick moment go on without a Dean styled complaint. Sam just felt lucky that he got to hug his brother. He didn't expect Dean to let him considering everything that happened.


	12. Chapter 12

_Dean was good at what he did. He was better the most of the other students in this little spot in the Pit. Dean was the farthest in, closest to his Master. His Teacher. His everything. Dean wasn't above admitting to himself that he sought out compliments because his Master was the only one he could remember giving them so readily and honestly._

_He was even told that thirty years was a decent number._

_Dean was proud of that._

_Dean was taught how to use everything, even words. Because here, everything was a tool. Dean grinned down at the knife in his hand. It felt warm and alive and so unbelievably right._

_Dean fit right in despite how human he sometimes felt._

_After all this was his home. In the distance he heard something new, something unfamiliar for the forty years he's been here. Fighting above him. Dean frowned and looked up, he see's nothing. But wondered what the light was, it was new and spreading outward the closer it came._

_The sound of wings and then Dean remembered nothing more._

Dean sat up with a silent scream. Clutching at his chest as his heart beat loudly against his chest. Dean had to fight to catch his breath and not for the first time he was left reeling. Only this time he was wondering why he woke up from the dream rather then watch it play out in front of him. And soon to explain to Crowley what they watched, what they saw.

He was almost ready to start explaining things to thin air.

But there was no Crowley.

There was only him with the real sensation of being in control. Hurt. No pain in his ass though, so he was left wondering if that part really was a dream. Dean felt shame and disgust and pleasure pulse through him. Closing his eyes tightly he opened them again to find himself in the same place on the same bed with the memories he didn't have up until now plaguing his thoughts. He wasn't supposed to remember Castiel coming to get him.

But he does.

And Dean felt the twisted sense of what it feels like to be taken out of...

Home.

Cursing to himself he pushed that thought away with a vicious surge he reserves for the things he hunts. Pushes the thoughts away because he was happy to be out. Happy to have his brother back.

“Sam...” Dean muttered as he struggled to get the room to stop spinning as he stood up. His stomach growled, a clear show of his hunger. When was the last time he ate? His first stop though was to a bathroom where he looked for the signs that he was going to have to explain things or watch a memory no matter how twisted that memory was.

He couldn't stand looking in the mirror though. For one split second it was as though everything he ever was looked back at him. Him as a happy child. Him as a sad grown up child, silent in his pain. A hunter, his fathers soldier. Alastairs student, near demon himself. A resurrected hunter, Heaven's tool that failed to work right. A brother. A vessel to Crowley.

Dean took off his shirt and looked at the healing wound across the anti-possession tattoo. It stung and it was a sign of how things fell apart. Dean barely noticed the hand print on his shoulder. Castiel's mark, slightly faded but still a raised symbol of him being saved.

Clattering in another room caught his attention. Looking around for a weapon, he see's none. Putting his shirt back on he lightened his step despite how confused and out of it he felt. He could push that aside enough to live, to survive because he had to.

Dean figured it was coming from the kitchen due to the fact that he swore he heard dishes being put away. So he pushed forward and through one of the entrances to the kitchen.

Only to stop dead as he laid his eyes on Kevin Tran and his Mother. It was Linda who noticed him first, and her notice caught Kevin's attention. They both looked like they saw a ghost. Dean was aware that at one time he would have loved to say something funny as a greeting or say something at all. But he found himself to be mute and he didn't have the energy to push the matter. Instead Dean didn't dare move an inch even when Kevin left the place to go somewhere else.

Entering the kitchen cautiously, eyeing the knife in her hands that was wet from being washed in the sink behind her. So many different uses for that one knife. Dean frowned inwardly, he would be able to tell you every way to use it but not every way to use it for cooking because every knife had a specific use from what he's heard. The thought oddly enough didn't disgust him like it should, Dean knows it should.

He felt disoriented at the situation. This was the final proof that he was free, no longer someone's vessel. No longer someone's tool. Right?

“Dean? Are you okay?” Linda asked, her voice laced with honest concern and Dean couldn't bring himself to answer her. In fact he was concerned with how empty he felt at that. Like that concern, that honest concern meant nothing to him then what it used to or what it should mean. Dean felt guilty for that. But he barely had the energy for that as well.

Instead his attention was dragged from her to the front door that was in full view of the kitchen area. Sam. Sammy. His baby brother! Dean didn't remember the last time he saw such relief and concern on Sam's face. Dean let himself feel a bit of hope that everything was going to be okay now.

That hope was confirmed and rewarded as he felt himself being pulled into a tight hug.

A greeting that should have happened when Dean made it back to Sam after Purgatory. But didn't receive and instead he learnt the truth that his brother didn't look for him. For a moment a surge of anger nearly choked him, instead he wrapped his arms around Sam and let him have his hug. Sammy was always the emotional one.

So Dean let him have it.

But why did he suddenly feel abandoned?

Eventually Sam let go and Dean found himself sitting at the table and a plate of food put in front of him. Not a lot, Linda explained that it wasn't wise to push himself at the moment. Dean could care less, what would happen. He'd puke and feel sick. Big deal there, he felt worse. Complaints aside, he ate the plate anyway and was satisfied that the growling and hunger pains stopped well enough for him to focus on everything else.

Dean was no longer possessed, that much was becoming clear to him after everything was explained to him and the necessary tests to prove it. He already drank a full glass of holy water. It tasted different, but nothing he couldn't manage. All in all it proved that he was back in the driver seat. Back in control and his mind felt both troubled and at peace with being the only one in this body.

He could really use a drink and not holly water or water at all. But right now he just listened to what everyone was saying. Listened to his brother's apologies and promises. Didn't take the bait to open up and speak about what he went through. They wouldn't want to know. They shouldn't know. They, Dean didn't want them to know.

He didn't want them to know about the memories he watched and spoke about to Crowley. He didn't have a choice, but that wasn't the point because he didn't even speak about his memories to Sam. So what made Crowley different outside of the fact that the demon left no room for debate. Dean had no other choice. And eventually it became normal and a routine.

He didn't want to talk to them about the torture Crowley did to a man who's time ran out from making a deal ten years ago. How Dean helped by giving advice Crowley no doubt already knows about from watching Dean's memories together. Dean definitely didn't want to speak about how natural it felt. How it...

How it made him feel almost homesick.

Dean wondered what Castiel would think about all of this. He would be angry. Hurt, betrayed even? Like a failure?

And above all else he didn't want to speak about what he did to that pregnant woman, he didn't even know her name but he remembers her screams and her please. He remembered what it was like to watch himself on the television in one of Crowley's imagined rooms. He didn't want to speak about how Crowley took him on a bed that didn't technically exist.

How Dean was conquered and left broken and now abandoned.

It wasn't fair for them. But that was how it was, they didn't get a choice in the matter. Not even one.

“Are you going to be okay?” Kevin asked, face portraying an honest concern that Dean almost wanted to sneer at. Instead he took another sip of the water and concentrated on how odd it felt going down his throat. He watched Kevin for a moment while he finished off the drink and set it down.

“Fine.” Dean answered, a one worded answer that they should just take for the truth. Dean wasn't fine though. Not by a long shot, but that was okay. When was he ever okay? Sam gave him a look that told Dean that his brother was fully aware of the truth here and Dean found that he didn't actually like that idea. The idea of someone knowing if he was okay or not rather then just accepting what is.

Standing up abruptly Dean muttered something about going outside to see the Impala. Sam assured him that it was okay but didn't stop him all the same. Dean smiled an honest smile when he looked at the car still gleaming in her beauty. He silently thanked Crowley for not ruining it. Running his hand from the front of the car to the hood before climbing into the driver seat. It felt normal to sit behind this drivers wheel.

Dean was tempted to go for a drive. His arm felt itchy, a tingling sensation that caused him to frown slightly as he scratched it. It was right where the scar left on him from being saved, it never itched before. Tingled maybe but only when Castiel was in the area and doing his angel thing and smiting the hell out of their enemies. When grace lit the air and all Dean could smell was everything. That didn't always make sense, but there really wasn't many ways to explain it.

Dean could feel eyes on him, he didn't have to look up to confirm that he was being watched with concern. Perhaps they were right for having concern, but that wouldn't make Dean acknowledge it. Not even when Sam invited himself into the passenger seat.

“I meant what I said... You know.” Sam said, not looking at Dean but that was normal when they had serious talks while on the road. It was easier to pretend you were telling the dashboard or the road then the person next to you. They were so damaged it wasn't even funny. But they were family and Dean knows that was the only thing that really mattered.

Still does.

“I know.” Dean acknowledged as he sat back in the drivers seat, regarding the driving wheel for a moment before finding himself regarding Sam instead. Dean remembers what Sam's blood looks like because his little brother was hurt so many times. Too many times. Winchesters like themselves and blood was a natural thing like air or water. It was the hunters lifestyle that made it like this.

Silence crept up for a good thirty minutes before Sam spoke quietly,  
“What's wrong Dean? I know somethings wrong...” Sam was obviously forgetting the whole thing about not talking and chick flick moments. Dean voiced this and got a heavy glare for it.

“I know talking isn't the Winchester way or that this is a chick flick moment. But Dean, you were possessed for a week and a half. You were in Hell for four months. In Purgatory for a year. That's not small, that's not something you can shove aside. I know, I tried with my time spent as Lucifer's bunk buddy!” Sam snarled out, the natural Winchester anger darkening his words and left no room for arguing.

Like Crowley when he didn't take no for an answer and wanted explanations. Only Crowley didn't snarl at him for answers.

Dean looked away and ignored the impatient sound before the door was opened angrily, Sam was already out of the car and ready to go back to the house. Dean felt panic rise and he wanted to shove it down and push it away. It was a sign of weakness and it didn't fit with who he is!

“What if Dad was wrong Sam...” Dean suddenly said, stopping Sam from closing the door. Instead Sam stood uncomfortably near the passenger side. Door now wide open but Sam didn't get back in.

“What?” Sam asked, almost like he didn't hear Dean right despite how clear Dean was speaking. Dean wanted to give an annoyed look, instead he kept facing forward now.

“He told me before he died, that if it came to it. I was to kill you. Remember. Because everything was pointed to you going to the dark side. After all you were Lucifer's vessel. But that was all wrong, you have the biggest heart. You talk about your feelings, you are willing to share them. You were willing to give a Vampire the right to live because she would rather eat cows rather then people. You're good Sammy.” Dean found himself saying, he couldn't stop himself now. It felt like a dame broke. It was an uncomfortable and wrong feeling.

“Dean...” Sam couldn't say much more then that because Dean didn't give him the chance to. Dean didn't want to hear about it. He couldn't. It would suffocate him instantly. Instead he started the car and pulled away even though the passenger door was still open. He ignored how Sam called after the car and how Linda and the Prophet stood at the front door.

Dean just focused on what was in front of him.

He just continued to drive.

Driving always helped Dean think clearly. So it allowed him to think about what he went through from when Sam left him because of a stupid argument. A pointless one. How he did such stupid things like drugs, that was new. And the hallucinations of Alastair that didn't feel right because his... tormenter behaved so wrong. But that was probably just the drugs talking not the demon. Not Alastair.

Then feeling so wrong and so tormented in the day to day movements and feeling oddly cornered while in the restaurant. Which in the end led him to Crowley. To being possessed by Crowley and going down memory lane with him. Everything Dean has ever done and had done to him flashed through his mind and in front of him.

Then Crowley started to pick particular memories and Dean spoke to him about it. Desperate to make it stop in the start and talking had that happen. But eventually it was a way to get ride of the feeling of being isolated and alone. A way to pass the time and Dean felt both relieved to talk about it and he hated it.

The entire week and a half kept replaying in his mind. The last bit there Dean knows was closer to being your typical possession because Dean was more or less asleep for it. And then he woke up in the bed back at the house where he left his brother with the two others.

Dean was free. But Dean didn't know why he didn't feel that way now. Was it because of the burden that was once again placed on his shoulders. Dean frowned as he sped the car up. No music was playing. Just his thoughts.

_Dean felt more pain then he thought was ever possible. Half of his body was submerged in acid and the clear liquid was now a slop of melted innards and Dean didn't want to think about what else. Dean screamed so much that his voice was raw and he could do nothing more then plead with Alastair silently to stop. To just stop._

_But the demon won't, why should he? Dean was his victim and his toy to play with. Alastair didn't have to care about Dean or stop. Or do anything but hurt him over and over and over again._

_“You know, you don't have to do this to yourself boy.” Alastair said, a sympathetic tone that didn't match the sadistic gleam in the white eyes that scared him more then black ever could._

_Dean found himself lowered in further and wailed because of it. He didn't think he could scream any more but he did. Alastair was good at forcing them out even past torn throats and missing lungs. Dean glared viciously. Alastair only smiled down at him though._

_“This burden you bare, do you even remember why?” Alastair asked and Dean felt a silent snarl twist his lips. He could remember, he remembered. He did._

_But what did he remember this time. It was always different. The family business. His brother. Good? Dean frowned._

_“It's okay if you don't. I'm sure it'll come back to you. After all this is only year fourteen and we have such a long time to get to know each other.” Alastair commented before Dean found himself fully submerged._

_The pain was enough to eat through him and everything went black._

Dean let out a gasp as the car swerved to the side and skidded to a stop. The impala protested at such treatment. Memories haven't been that bad for some time now. And he still felt like he was melting though when he looks down everything was intact and solid. Dean let out a shaky breath as he turned the car off.

The car? No the Impala. Home. Normal. He loved this car.

Sitting there he felt like he was being suffocated and the walls were closing in on him, he had to get out. As soon as he was standing beside the car Dean found his legs shaking underneath him. The talk that day was mostly about Dean baring the burden of being tortured for a family member. Dean remembered because he wasn't asked if he wanted to pick up the blade that day. It was the only day Dean was never asked that question. Sitting on the hood Dean focused on relaxing. His heart still beat wildly in his chest. The sky was blue and Dean wished it was cloudy. That had Dean feeling almost lost. And Dean was, he was so lost right now it wasn't fair.

Closing his eyes he focused everything in getting himself under control before he drove back to the house and put on the brave face again and deal with chick flick moments he no doubt created by his own stupidity. Back and help them seal the doors to Hell for good. Leaving Earth free of them.

The sound of a phone caught his attention. Frowning he checked himself but found nothing. It was coming from inside of the car or more correctly the glove department. Dean climbed off the hood and back into the car and took out a phone he didn't recognize. It wasn't his and he figured it wasn't Sam's either. Blinking at it for a moment before he turned it on.

A text from an unknown sender. There was only two words on the screen.

'You're choice'

There didn't need to be a name or a familiar number because Dean knows now who it's from. Dean wrote back, asking what was his choice but he got no answer. Instead his arm felt like it was on fire. Dean hissed as he grabbed it. Why was it hurting all of a sudden. No blood or any sign of an injury was present. Dean took one last look at the phone before turning it off and putting it back in the glove department. He'll figure out what to do with it later.

~Castiel~

Castiel pushed Dean away so he could escape Purgatory while Castiel remained and paid for his many sins and there was so many. Yet he finds himself standing in a field he remembered that was the place many battles were fought before countries had names on a map. Battles between tribes, armies and supernatural beings.

Castiel only observed then. There was no other choice but to watch and Castiel did so readily. He was a soldier and it wasn't in his place to think. So he didn't. It wasn't until he took the dive and rescued Dean Winchester from Perdition. A mission he was ever so thankful to be chosen for.

Castiel still believes that it was by God's order not Michael's. Michael was just playing by their Creator's rules and missions while twisting it in a way that suited him best. Castiel could understand the feeling of being so tired though. He didn't begrudge the archangel for that. For everything else, Michael was not guiltless and Castiel will never consider him so.

He had to watch as the Winchester's dealt with the blows from Heaven and Hell. It wasn't fair on them, and then everything else that happened since then. So many dead.

But nothing gave away any hints on how he was on Earth rather then in Purgatory paying for those sins that were fully his and by his own gained free will.

Pain was something he was used to feeling now, especially considering the fact that he is a soldier. A worrier of Heaven. But the kind that was tingling was deep seeded in his grace. Tied to the sliver of a soul that transferred to him by mistake as he saved a very special soul.

He in turn gave a sliver of his own grace to heal the damaged and broken soul that was so bright that it was deadly. Castiel knows it's not a common thing to remain bright rather then be blackened by pain and anger and hatred like so many demons are. Dean was a righteous man and that was written in his very soul and heart.

Dean showed Castiel so many things and taught him even more.

But now that sliver of soul was withering and Castiel felt pain. He couldn't understand why he was feeling this sort of pain. Or a sudden overwhelming feeling that he might be able to describe as failure or failing? Or was it something else?

Castiel didn't know where the righteous man was though thanks to Castiel. So he couldn't search him out. Instead he would have to rely on Dean praying to him. If he prayed still, in Purgatory Dean prayed every day and each time it felt like Castiel would fall to pieces from the guilt of leaving his friend to fend for himself.

He thanked his Father for Benny deciding to both befriend and use Dean because at least he had someone watching his back and in turn hinting at a way to escape.

“Dean. Sam, pray to me.” Castiel found himself saying, whispering to the sky above him as he stood there dirty and lost and not knowing what it was he was supposed to do. What was his purpose here and Castiel could barely contain how tired he felt.

Castiel found that he almost wanted to die. It would be a fitting price to pay. Perhaps not quite the penance he needed or should give, but it would still be something he could do to give back.

Castiel could honestly admit to himself that being brought back to life wasn't a gift, perhaps that was part of the reason why both Winchesters seemed so jaded after revivals as the number climbed. He would have to ask them sometime.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean eventually found himself in a park located near the centre of the town they were close to. He could remember times in his dreams and in realty where he sat beside Castiel and just talked. It was mostly about Cas, not so much Dean and that was okay with Dean because the subject of himself was his least favorite. Dean had-has so much self-loathing he could drown this town. He can't fully discover if he still had it, that self-loathing. 

The kind that saw the faces of everyone he's tortured during his time in Hell under Alastair's tutelage. Dean hated-hates himself for how good at torture he was. But he was always good at hurting others, killing others. It was his job even before he was torn apart by that Hellhound. And Dean is good at his job. Even better at it now then he was before Purgatory. The speeds of his kills are now less then what they used to be. 

He at times made Sam look like a novice in the hunting and killing department. Intelligent wise, the title still went to Sam. His little brother was incredibly smart. Could have been anything. 

Dean felt at ease when the light started to disappear as the sun went down. He was at this particular bench a majority of the day, leaving only to do the basic necessities. Eat. Use the bathroom. Pie. He still loved pie. At one point he filled the car up so he wouldn't have to worry about it running out of gas before he gets back to the house. 

There was no question that he was going back. Sam was there, so was the Prophet and his mother. Dean mentally told himself their names, a thing he technically shouldn't have to do. 

The phone he didn't recognize was sitting beside him on the bench while his own was in his pocket, Dean didn't even know why he brought it with him. No one called him on it, only gave him that one text. Two words only and yet that was enough to leave a heavy weight on Dean's shoulders. Dean wanted to complain that it wasn't fair, but what was the point of that? 

It wasn't fair that his Mother died on the ceiling of Sam's nursery. Yet she did. 

It wasn't fair that his Father died because Dean was dying, so a deal was struck and the same demon that claimed Mary's life claimed John's. Yet it happened and Dean was pushed back into life. Despite the fact that it wasn't fair, he couldn't complain about the outcome. Dean liked to be alive, liked to live. 

It wasn't fair that Michael wanted to use his body for a stupid bickering match with his brother! Yet the fool did, and didn't succeed. That was the only good thing. Dean was adamant that Michael didn't understand the meaning of having a brother, you don't go trying to kill him just because Daddy says it's okay. 

Dean felt a surge of rage course through his body, tightening his muscles to lash out. But there was nothing to lash out at, so Dean closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. 

It definitely wasn't fair that Sam was used as Lucifer's bitch during the whole year Sam's soul was stuck in that damned cage with those two! But Death got him out, funny how it was Death who came to the rescue and not Heaven in it's virtue. 

Dean's shoulder started to hurt again. 

And anger. So much anger, the kind he feels after being hurt and betrayed so badly that he wanted nothing more then to hurt them back. It took a lot to get himself to calm himself down and faintly he realized that he was panting lightly while he gripped the bench so tightly his fingers hurt. Pain. A gentle feeling of it. 

Loosening his grip Dean sat back and watched as the sky darkened as night fell. 

Looking at the phone again he was hoping for another text, another hint of what was expected of him. What choice did he have? 

To hunt or not to hunt? But that didn't seem right, not the right choice to make because that's an easy one. Hunting is something that he's been into for as long as he could remember. At one point his memories of Hell outweighed his memories as a hunter, in years too. But Purgatory could easily count as his time as a hunter, because that's all he was doing. Hunting, running and surviving. He got very good at it, it was second nature now. The only lapse he can count was when he was caught in Crowley's grip.

To go back to the house or not? That was another easy one, so it didn't seem to be right. He knows he's going back. 

So then what? What choice was there? 

The sound of talking caught his attention and Dean stiffened up until he realized that it was just a loving couple walking hand in hand talking about their day's events. They spotted him, smiled and greeted him with kindness as they continued on their way. Dean greeted them with a stiff forced smile. 

His shoulder was throbbing still. 

Dean stared after them. He hoped that they would get home safely, Dean was a sap that way. Not that he'd ever admit to it, at one time he was very concerned with people and saving them. At the same moment that he was hoping they would get home safely, Dean could tell you the different ways to break them. Hurt them. Kill them. And unavoidably change them. 

Sam didn't know that not everyone was turned into demons. Dean could tell Sam a lot about demons, more then what Ruby told Sam. Some people didn't have the stuff they needed to survive, to change and adapt. They became nothing more then whimpering puppets or clay to mold into a larger object. Demons were the ones who whispered in artists ears and poet's ears about what it might look like. No one gets it right, but like everything there's truth to be found. 

Dean knows though. He knows. And it shook him to the core when he found out for himself. Nothing prepared him for what was waiting for him. But Dean had something in him that allowed him to change and survive and adapt. 

He just didn't get to the point that he was a demon. 

But he was close, so very close that he could taste it on his tongue. Castiel knows and Sam never will. Dean knows that Crowley knows as well, so did Ruby and other demons. They all knew, Dean could see it in their smug and cold sadistic eyes. Dean was almost grateful to them that they said nothing. It would have been foolish because Dean might have killed them there on the spot. No questions asked. 

Dean looked through the contents of the phone for any hints for what was wanted of him. There wasn't anything outside the manufactured contents and that one text that Dean replied to but gained nothing in return. Dean knows that eventually he would have to start heading back to the house, the others most likely are worried if the phone ringing in his pocket was any indication. Dean didn't bother go answer it instead he sent a text telling Sam that he was okay before he stood up, stretched his legs and walked out of the park. Dean noted that there was a clinic across the street. Not that it was needed so he walked past it. 

In the end of his short walk he ended up stopping at a restaurant and got himself a burger and fries. 

“Sir... Your arm's bleeding.” The waitress said as she refilled his drink. Dean frowned and looked towards his arm. Only a small trickle of blood, but it was enough to draw some attention. It must have only started. Dean instantly put on a mask to cover his annoyance as he dealt with the situation. He was left wondering why he was bleeding when he didn't cut himself today? Or at least he didn't remember cutting himself. 

Dean as casual as he could headed to the bathroom to take care of it and investigate further. The waitress simply let him be as she went to go tend to another table. Dean forgot to flirt with her, which in itself was a bit odd because it was a general rule that you had to flirt with waitresses because they're the ones who bring you your food. 

Dean locked the door so he wouldn't be disturbed. Dean knows that all he had to do was roll up his sleeve but the opportunity to examine everything was too tempting. So Dean removed his shirt completely, this would be the first time he got a good look at the healing wound on his chest, the anti-possession tattoo was disrupted so quickly and so easily. Perhaps he should have got Castiel to burn it into his skull or something like he did the Enochian symbols that kept angels from finding him. There was no infection, almost like Crowley kept it from getting infected. No doubt for his own purposes, the man was a demon after all. 

Stomping on the frustration he felt with that situation, he still found that he felt abandoned which was a crazy emotion to feel but it was true and Dean was too tired to really ignore that fact. He was just not stupid enough to admit it to Sam. 

Taking a look at the hand print on his shoulder, blood was trickling slowly from the centre of what was the palm. The image almost made him remember of times when puss being pushed or coming from an infected area. Dean frowned as he used paper towels to clean up and eventually stop the bleeding. 

The hand print was now several shades lighter then it should be. It was disappearing on him. Dean just found that he couldn't stop staring at it and thinking over the implications. And none of it was good. Dean knows he should feel fear, horror or caution. But all he felt was numbness to it. 

A numbness and a cold feeling that there was no return after this. No going back. Whatever this was. These shifts and memories and traumatizing. All mixing and coiling together in his mind. In him. 

The throbbing went back to full fledged pain that felt like his skin was burning off. Moisture started to run down his arm, looking at it through eyes that were narrowed in pain he could see that it wasn't a trickle of blood. The entire hand print was starting to bleed at a steady pace. 

Dean knows this isn't right! Knows it for a fact. In fact it was wrong, but with the pain came a comfortable familiarity of it. And anger, rage and so many things Dean didn't know he could feel until he went to Hell. Dean gripped the counter that had three matching sinks cut into it. Anything to keep balance when things in his mind was twirling and going to places he thought he left when he woke up in a pine box. 

Finally he closed his eyes tightly while his mouth opened in a pained silent scream. 

The pain was unreal and Dean could barely stand it. To be completely honest with himself through the tightly gripping pain, this reminded him of Hell. Just without the blinding and tormenting heat that after some time became too normal to be a good thing. It was too the point that while topside when he was distracted he found it was too cold on Earth. It was a disturbing thing when he felt that before, now he didn't react to it. 

Just the pain that had him choking on his own air Dean felt something shift dangerously inside of him. For the first time in his life he literally felt like something was shifting and coiling inside of him. Faintly the sound of drops hitting a puddle on the ground reached his ears but didn't draw his attention from the scenes playing behind his eyes. 

Images of him suffering. Tortured. Broken. Picked up and put together. Left alone and abandoned and rescued and no longer alone. Images of him listening intently to his master and tormentor. Idolizing the demon and learning the art form torture was. 

Images of being torn apart by a hellhound and white light. Lilith's true form was the last he saw before being pulled and dragged kicking and screaming to his new reality. Being chained up and screaming for Sam to help him. But no help came! Sam gave up only after a couple of months or so. Didn't even give it a good shot after botched crossroad deals! 

Rage and pain and turmoil swirled in his mind. 

Not stopping long enough to give him a moments break. 

Then there it was. Pleasure. But that was quickly masked over by the pain he was in and feeling. In his weakest moments he didn't want his Dad or Sam, Bobby or Castiel. He wanted Crowley or Alastair. 

Only faintly did he become aware of the sound of banging on the door. Someone trying to get in, see if he needed help. Apparently his screams weren't as quiet as he thought. But that didn't matter as he ignored them and forcefully opened his eyes and looked into the reflection. 

It was a mistake. 

Dean saw himself as he used to be. Back in Hell. How he believed that he looked, which for the most part was himself. But mutilated and scared and scorned and sadistic. Cold black eyes with an unnatural green tint to them. All the while bleeding white at the edges. Because of the humanity that was sticking at the time or something else? 

It-Him stared back at him, shocking him enough that he spun around so his back faced the mirror and Dean collapsed on his knees while panting to catch his breath. The bleeding on his arm stopped and despite the blood it didn't look like skin was broken somehow. And Dean, well he felt at peace at long last, whether it's a good thing or not time has yet to tell. But Dean, well as his breathing came to a steady calmness Dean stared ahead of him at the toilet with the seat still up. 

His choice. 

That was what Crowley's text was, Dean knows that it was the demon King of Hell that sent him the text just like he slipped the phone into the glove department of the car. Closing his eyes for a moment Dean worked up the energy to put his shirt and jacket on covering most of the blood. 

Dean greeted the people who were on the other side of the door, concerned citizens and Dean could smell the different scents of sins. He assured them all was well and quickly went on his way. 

It was his choice after all. 

He was going to deliver Kevin Tran the Prophet to the one who tore open the wound that kept him from being whole. The thing that saved him from this damnation. First stop would be the clinic, he will no doubt find what he needs there to make sure they all sleep like babies. Dean would have to play this safe though, and carefully. Like cutting a fine line in soft flesh of a virgin in experiencing the finer tunes of torture. 

~Castiel~

Castiel found himself a very familiar barn. The sigils and old markings two hunters put on the walls and somehow the ceiling were now faded. This barn at one time would have been the safest place to hide from most supernatural deities. It wasn't enough to keep Castiel out. He came through the doors with a confidence he no longer felt like he did that day. 

Castiel marked this as a special place in his mind because this is where everything started to change, even when it will be reduced to dust and if buildings or homes were to be built on top of it it will be forever marked in Castiel's grace. For the better and worse. It was funny how it could be both. All the same, Castiel wouldn't change it for anything. He wondered what Father thought of all of this. Would he be proud? Ashamed of Castiel? Disappointed.

Castiel wouldn't be able to take it if there was disappointment. Who in their right mind could? Not even Lucifer would be safe from that emotion and it's pain. Only Lucifer would take it out on their Father's favorite creation while Castiel would follow the Winchester route and internalize it. Castiel was sure of it, he believed that. 

Castiel stared at the spot where he told Dean who he was. An angel of the lord. Dean wasn't too sure of what to think about it then, but he listened as well as the man could. Castiel almost smiled, he had a lot of good memories with Dean. Although he wasn't too fond of the fact that Dean told him to 'blow me' once. It was uncomfortable when Castiel figured out what it meant and knew for sure that Dean didn't mean it in a technical manner. Humans were so strange that way. Always having sayings that had double meaning. It was bizarre and wonderful and frustrating. Castiel wouldn't change it for the world. 

Before his thoughts could go further the soul shard he had screamed out in an agony that he didn't realize that he could feel, it was enough to have Castiel collapse to his knee's unaware that he was on his knees the exact same time Dean fell to his. There profound bond was more then just words. It was a connection that made Castiel more aware of what was going on with Dean emotionally, physically and in every way possible. Understanding and filtering through all of it was another story and with the fact that he could not find Dean's location thanks to the Enochian sigils on his ribs it was a dizzying feeling sometimes that left Castiel momentarily disoriented. 

Realization dawned on him, knowledge from so many years passed confirmed it. 

“Oh Father...” Castiel pleaded with the air around him. It couldn't be, it shouldn't be happening. But Castiel felt a darkness choke his connection with Dean. A bright darkness that he couldn't describe, but it was an old kind of new. There were few who were in that league, but none were alive when drowning in it. 

All the most powerful of Hellish creatures, demons most especially were born this way. Not your common foot soldiers, black eyed and humanity carved away. Childish in their grasp at cruelty. Children who delight in hurting others. Disgusting abominations to what used to be beautiful. Souls. Red eyes were no different, slippery creatures who played on negative emotions and cheated naive greedy humans and desperate humans into foolish deals. 

It was your rare demons, few in number that brightly shined for reasons that were unique to each and every one of them. 

All bright in their darkness and eventually that light was cloaked in darkness by their own twisted free will. Righteous men. The first woman, rebellious and sensual and caught Lucifer's attention and so he experimented. Lilith was born, a newborn demon with so much potential and throughout history you could see it in every reading if you looked properly. 

And now... 

Castiel grasped his mouth, the borrowed mouth of Jimmy. A human gesture and it was fitting. Curling down so his face was close to the ground in heartbreak and desperation. His mind was so caught up in this emotion and hurt that logic and rational thinking escaped him. There was so much he could have done, but on the ground in the barn is where he stayed. 

“Oh Creator...” Castiel whispered. His own voice sounded broken and winded, it was all he could do to keep himself from screaming in rage and sorrow. He didn't want to risk that because he knows that it wouldn't be in the use of Jimmy's vocal cords. It would be his own pained voice. Loud and booming and soft and caring. Things would shatter and ears would bleed if they were at an okay distance. 

“Why... After everything I have done to fix him, help him. He would fall like this and turn into the thing he hates and fears being? I who have raised him from perdition and washed his soul of the taint and bandaged the sores allowing that precious humanity and beautiful morals to shine through. How could this have happened? He was good, he was fixed and in another year he would have no longer needed my grace to be the dam that keeps it away. He would have been truly and wholeheartedly free. Why is this happening to him now, after everything he has done and sacrificed? Why forsake him now?” Castiel found himself pleading desperately, not aware of his own emotions written across his face. 

Castiel thought about Sam and worried about the little brother who might be watching his older brother's fall. Castiel knows that so many older angels could sympathize. But none would have expected it to be reverse, it was supposed to be Sam who was Lucifer's vessel and the one who would fall. Not Dean. Not the true vessel of their beloved Michael. 

Eventually he forced himself to stand back up, the same moment he didn't know that Dean did the same. They both were back on their feet and Castiel only knows now that it would be going in different directions. 

Castiel closed his eyes, prayed to his Father because to have faith was the last thing he seemed to truly have. Everything else was either slipping away from him or simply not there. Castiel had to centre himself and realized that his best bet to figure things out is to find Kevin Tran. The Prophet of the Lord. Kevin no doubt would know what is going on or what happened to have started this horrible turn of events. Castiel only knows the outcome, not the journey that brought Dean to this point. 

Opening his eyes he searched out Kevin and located his location in a small town five states over. A fair distance but nothing more then a step for Castiel. It would be no problem for him to get there. 

Only he never got the chance, instead he found himself standing in a clean and bare room. Standing in front of a desk with a woman, an angel of some rank he was not familiar with sitting. She looked awfully smug and Castiel felt his stomach turn in discomfort. There was something odd about her. 

“Hello Castiel, my name is Naomi.” She spoke, calm and collected. Controlling and inviting. Castiel didn't trust her but found himself stuck where he was standing and his attention was on her. He knows he should be somewhere else right now. 

Dean! Dean he should be dealing with that situation not speaking with this angel. He should be finding Kevin Tran. 

“I should still be in Purgatory. Why am I out?” Castiel asked, wanting to ask why he was stopped from going along with his own plan but refrained for a reason not quite clear to him at this point. 

“Yes, I know. However you are more useful out then in. I sent a small garrison to save you, unfortunately some of them died getting to you and a few more while pulling you out. It was a miracle you escaped whole and intact.” Naomi explained casually, her well manicured nails tapping on the desk without a thought. A habit that either belonged to the vessel or her. Castiel didn't know which. 

“Why am I out?” Castiel pushed, she smiled and asked him about the Winchesters instead. And much to Castiel's dismay he explained everything he knows about them from their souls to what he saw first hand. It was a betrayal! But he couldn't stop talking. Every question she asked he answered without any hesitation on his part. Even questions he didn't want to answer, he answered. 

Was this her power or was it Castiel's curse? 

Finally he managed to interrupt enough to explain his standing. Tell her that he should be locating Kevin Tran to find out what was happening and why it was happening. He explained without leaving room for debate, that this was going to be his penance. He wanted to find a way to fix this situation and save Dean if possible. If not then kill him so the memory of who Dean used to be wouldn't be tarnished by the thing he would become. 

She disallowed this. 

Castiel asked why, anger boiling throughout his grace causing the light to brighten in the room. She didn't look worried, she looked annoyed and disapproving. 

“A balance has to be kept Castiel, you know this. Hell has roles that need to be filled up.” Naomi answered, it was obvious on who's role Dean was destined to play. Castiel gripped his hands into tight unforgiving fists. His anger continued to climb. Naomi was in dangerous territory, she knows this because Castiel watched her stand up at a safe defensive distance. Ready to defend herself. 

“Kevin Tran is on the move, I will go get him before he falls into the wrong hands. If he does, where is your precious balance then? Heaven would be under siege as will be Earth. Our Creator's favorite creation would be threatened with slavery and extinction!” Castiel found himself stating, cold and accusing. 

Naomi opened her mouth and said a very foolish thing, a deal was struck. Heaven was to be left alone and Earth would be fair game. Castiel didn't know why she answered him, because she was the one in control of the situation. But someone, something made her answer. 

Castiel gave his thanks but his anger was quickly consuming.


	14. Epilogue Part 1

Sam groaned as he managed to force his eyes open as soon as consciousness came rushing back to him. Despite the disorientation he was dealing with from being out for what might have been a long time if the sunlight coming through the window's was any indication, Sam knew something was wrong. He was on the floor in the kitchen. A frying pan laid not too far from where he was and Sam knows that he was struck with it at some point.

Was it before or after his suspicions started to peak in his mind? It had to be after, Sam remembers he was frustrated with the situation so he turned his back for a minute to recollect himself. He didn't even hear the pan being picked up and didn't see it coming until the side of his head was struck with the bottom part of it.

Letting out a pained grunt as he rolled to his side. Even the little bit of moving had him feeling a bit dizzy and Sam wondered how hard was he actually hit? Cursing to himself he kept forcing himself to get up until he managed to sit in a chair. There was too much silence in the house, Sam can almost hear his heart beating.

He hoped that this was all a horrible dream. A nightmare. Because Sam knows all too well of how realistic dreams can be. In his dream everything took a turn for the worst for a couple of reasons.

First it was Dean who was wielding the frying pan, not a random thought up villain or demon. It was his big brother, Dean Winchester who used to go on about how he was Batman and about pies and burgers and the family business. His big brother who always looked out for him and fought for him and fought with him and who saved people and fought to save people. Dean came back around nine at night and it was already getting dark before that. Sam was worried, but boy was he relieved when he saw the Impala pull in.

But that was when it got weird.

Dean came in, acted like nothing was wrong but no matter what Sam tried he couldn't get answers out of Dean. Or find out where the blood came from. Dean shrugged it off and said that it was okay, that everything is okay. Sam frowned, he remembered that he distrusted that answer and the calm and almost at peace look on Dean's face. Turning his back he tried to recollect his thoughts and his suspicions grew. He was humming something, not Metallica or AC DC or anything like that. Something

_“Hey Sam...” Sam heard from behind him, on reaction alone he turned to see what his acting oddly brother was doing when something hard hit him in the head and Sam went down. Dean didn't bend down with him, didn't try to help him like he normally would._

_Sam wanted to ask, 'whats wrong with you'. But darkness closed in as he heard someone calling to him from another room in concern but not panic. They don't know..._

Second was that so far that day after the exorcism the day before that there was no other sign of demons or even Crowley for that matter. Nothing, everything was quiet and too quiet for it to be any good. Sam cursed again as he rubbed the side of his face and neck. He was sore. But he had more pressing matters.

Like the Tran's.

“Kevin.” Sam called, though he made sure not to be too loud in case there was others here but he somehow knows that he's the only one here so he wasn't or shouldn't be worried about giving away his location when there was nothing to give away. He just hoped he was wrong. He prayed that he was wrong.

Forcing his way to his feet he searched for a weapon and found none. An unwanted sense of dread nearly choked him. There was no visible weapons or in any place that he could have hide them because Sam was looking in all the hiding spots as he searched out the Tran's.

“Linda.” Sam called as he cleared half the house with a sense of horrific realization that this was reality and it wasn't exactly what he had hoped when he got back on board with the hunting and the whole scheme of things in closing the gates of Hell. He didn't even know where to start! And closing the gates was so unbelievably important. It would solve so many problems!

No answers came to any of his calls, even the repeated ones. Cursing to himself Sam was dreading the last room the room that Dean was put in when Crowley was forced out of him. In a sense it was Dean's room. His mind two words became a mantra as he reached for the doorknob 'please no, please no' and over and over again he found himself wishing for whatever is behind this door to not be horrible.

Cursing his own new found cowardice Sam turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Looking for any sign of traps waiting for him before entering himself. There wasn't any traces of sulphur that he could pick up right away and demons always leave traces of a sulphuric scent if you know how to look for it. If you didn't then there was good chances that you would never know a demon was any where near you.

“No... No, no this can't be happening...” Sam found himself saying as he entered the room in a bore daze then before as he circled around the bed to find the worst case scenario he could think of.

Tucked between the bed and the wall was Linda Tran, barely conscious and bloody. She was clutching the demon killing knife that was clean of blood except for where she held with a bloody hand. Sam pushed the bed away so he could reach her easily. Then he had to disarm her, which wasn't easy because reaction had her blindly slashing at him.

“Linda! Linda, it's Sam. You're okay, okay. You're going to be okay.” Sam said, loud enough for her to hear but not in any aggressive way so she didn't feel threatened. He couldn't have her feeling threatened.

“S-Sam.” Linda forced out and Sam took the knife from her and put it aside before lifting her onto the bed, immediately she made a pained sound. Sam had to ignore it at the moment so he could tend to her wounds. She was cut into, no doubt with another knife that was long enough to do damage but it appeared that the cuts were superficial. Like someone wanted her to survive. At least for awhile? Sam wouldn't know for sure without taking a better look.

“What happened?” Sam asked, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to ask her but it was required information and Sam needed to know now. A look of pained betrayal crossed her features and the look that Sam has seen on families faces when the lost someone to something they either didn't want to understand or couldn't. Sam's heart sunk at that moment and he was being forced rather cruelly to face what she might have to say.

For a split second he would rather be back in the cage then listen to what he knows is going to be the worst news he can imagine.

“Your brother... He... Kevin... He took Kevin! He... He punched him hard enough that he hit the wall that was behind him and collapsed on the ground unconscious. I tried to... Oh...” Linda explained despite the pain of both her physical state and emotional state. Sam closed his eyes tightly and felt a sob work it's way up. Sam swallowed it though. He couldn't let his own emotions get the best of him.

“Why did he do this... What happened to Dean that made him do this? He looked.... He wasn't normal Sam... For a... For a moment he didn't seem to be human.” Linda forced out as Sam looked over her injuries. Sam stopped though the second she implied that Dean might not have seemed human. If not human then what? Did that mean that something was controlling Dean?

Could Dean still be saved?

“I need to get you to a hospital.” Sam said, what else could he say because he didn't want to start rambling or making excuses or anything. So instead he managed to get her out to the vehicle that was left out there. The rented car Sam had. The impala was gone and with it was Dean and Kevin Tran. Leaving Sam and Linda behind and with so many questions and betrayals. Sam ended up speeding to the hospital because despite the awareness Linda had when he found her she was quickly slipping away from him. And by the time they got to the hospital they had to get a helicopter to take her to a nearby city because there was obvious injuries that Sam didn't find. It would explain the amount of blood that was left in the passenger seat despite the fact that Sam did try to stop her bleeding before they headed to the hospital.

Sam asked for a phone call on her condition and with that he left the hospital.

He wished Castiel was here, perhaps the nerdy angel would know what to do with this situation? If he was there Linda would be okay and then the three of them could go get Dean and Kevin. Sam felt so unbelievably lost right now it wasn't even funny. Sam ended up heading towards a bar that was nearby and found himself a corner table where nobody was sitting and Sam made sure he didn't look inviting to locals. Only inviting enough to get himself a beer he didn't even want to drink.

He tried phoning Dean and only got a weird message explaining that Dean wasn't coming to the phone because he's going home and there was no service where he lives.

He played that message several times and now he was trying it on speaker because he couldn't have heard right.

“No...” Sam muttered to himself, he has yet to get a call on Linda Tran's condition. He didn't even see someone approach him. Sam knows that he should be more aware but right now other things kept pulling at his mind.

“I'm afraid so.” A man said, Sam looked up suspiciously and frowning. Not even attempting to be polite or inviting.

“Who are you? And how would you know what's going on?” Sam forced out as he turned his phone off and put it back in a pocket. The man wasn't deterred and simply sat down across from him. He seemed to regard Sam for a moment and Sam swears there's something familiar about this man in front of him.

“Fair questions, both of them. First of all let me introduce myself as Henry Winchester and no I'm not a sibling. I'm your Dad's Dad and before you go making a scene let me explain.” The man, now known as Henry answered and Sam felt like he wanted to both stay in shock and attack at such an accusation. Instead he acted as the reasonable one and listened.

The man, Henry Winchester went on and explained why he was young appearing and who he was. It was all so fascinating but too different for him to really accept. Was it possible to use your own soul for such things? And how come Sam didn't hear about any of this before?

So Sam asked and got a brief history and a reason why the man was there. One question that wasn't answered was regarding Dean. Henry looked honestly like he was sad at that.

“I have a lot of contacts who know a lot of things... They confirmed it a few hours ago. Sam... Your brother fell there's no other way to say this. But it's true, believe me I know the whole prophecy thing and that it was meant for you to fall because you were Lucifer's vessel. But since the Apocalypse was stopped and the whole Leviathan thing... Things became so twisted and this is the way it's balancing out. And again, I have a lot of contacts that gave me the history of Dean and Sam Winchester albeit brief and to the point.” Henry explained and Sam felt like he had the wind knocked right out of him.

“That... That...” Sam started, this was all too much and Sam didn't want to believe it. Henry ended up having to force Sam to keep breathing regularly.

Did it mean that this was his fault?!

It took two hours for him to calm down and another topic to start up just as word that Linda Tran made it through surgery.

Something about the 'Men of Letters' and Sam despite himself was interested. This meeting seemed to be both a request for help and a recruitment of sorts. And he would have to do some research on this Abandon individual as well as keep searching for a way to save Dean. Balancing or not, Dean didn't deserve to be in Hell.

~Castiel~

Castiel did not know what his purpose was in the so called balance and although it was curious, he didn't want to seek that answer out. Not truly, but the nagging thoughts in his mind made him wonder about what balance was intended to be kept. From what Castiel saw as he felt his home, there was no balance to be found here. Things were in turmoil and souls where whimpering unbeknownst to them. There was no Viceroy, just a manager as she put it. She was managing the mess Castiel left behind in his fit for redemption and insanity. The first step in his Penance. The only step that he could take, Purgatory was supposed to be his final step. His last step. He was not supposed to leave, he was never supposed to leave Purgatory. That was why he pushed Dean away and knows that Dean remembers it differently and Castiel was fine with that. He truly was.

“By now Dean Winchester is nearly there.” Naomi stated, confidence heard in her voice and Castiel seethed but found himself powerless to do anything but stand there with his attention on her but straining to focus on Kevin Tran's soul. There jobs were supposed to protect the Prophet of the Lord! They have been doing so for as long as there was Prophets! And now, now they do nothing and sit idly by while they waited for the worst to happen.

Where was his Father in all of this! Castiel felt winded for a moment, he truly did become more human and that was not a blessing at times. It left him open to corruption and it left him open to care. To let his heart help him make decisions. He knows that there are those who said that he had too much heart, that it was a weakness. Castiel did not believe that.

“Nearly where...” Castiel asked, she already got so much information out of him and Castiel still wasn't entirely sure on how she did. Castiel did not want to tell her a thing, but he did. And so far she seemed pleasant enough to answer his questions. Turning his strained attention away from Kevin Tran for a guilty second he focused fully on the smug being in front of him.

How in his Father's name was she an angel?

“Kevin Tran is to be delivered to the current King of Hell, Crowley as you know by now from her earlier conversation.” Naomi answered and it was true, Castiel's question was next to pointless and he had to close his eyes. This was a train wreck, Castiel knows this human saying because he both watched the action happen and winced at the lives lost as well as ask Sam about the saying. Sam was a bit more open to helping him rather then mocking or what Castiel now knows as teasing then Dean was. Castiel would give his own soul to have those moments back, if he had a soul. But he does not. He is not human.

“I am aware, and you close the doors to Heaven and cower here while Earth the place where our Father-My Father's favorite creation is born and grows and plays live. You leave them to die and be damned for your own protection.” Castiel accused as he paced the room, and she gave him the worst glare for this meeting. Castiel was not impressed. But he was rightfully cautious.

“Be careful of what you say Castiel.” Naomi warned as she gained control of herself. Castiel was no fool, he could see she suffers from emotions but unlike himself, she seemed to be a little less controlled with them. Interesting. Castiel did not point this out, he was no fool. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to leave but found that he could not. She seemed smug again. Castiel was losing his patience.

“What would Father say to this, I wonder.” Castiel pointed out as he moved back so he was standing in front of her. He noticed a slender tool to the left of her on the desk. He did not trust it. Enochian was carved into the elongated tool.

“We are doing what is best for Heaven, any soul that is destined to come here will be welcomed with open arms.” Naomi answered calmly, her voice giving nothing away and Castiel weighed her words carefully.

“They will not be aware, you know this as I do. And while they float up, less and less as time goes by. What will you do then when no more souls come because of the Hell on Earth scenario. What choices will you make then?” Castiel asked, Castiel knows the worst case scenario of this and the best. He was not young like Samandriel who he could not sense in Heaven. He worried about the young angel who came to existence just as humans took their final shape after so many years.

Silence fell between them, Castiel knows that he did not stun her or make her question her decisions. She was feeling him out as he was her. But she still felt like she had the power here and she might just have that. But Castiel hung around the Winchester's too long and he won't back down in the face of a stronger opponent. After all if Dean could stand toe to toe with Lucifer and pull the trigger then Castiel can stand toe to toe with this angel and pull something out of his sleeve. He prayed this to be so.

She opened her mouth and Castiel already knows what she was going to say. He cut her off and pointed it out. Another Apocalypse, another attempt at bringing about a Peace humans may not want or need if you protect them now. Too much death would happen, too much killing and bloodshed. Castiel may be a soldier but he was not the kind that relished death and destruction. He actually liked the idea of helping people. It made him feel... Good.

“Yes.” Naomi confirmed coldly.

Was this the plan all along. Then what part does he play? He asked this and she told him in a possibly colder voice then before.

“A pawn.” Cold, Castiel did not know someone could sound even colder then before. Michael never even sounded this cold. A feat that until now Castiel thought impossible.

Castiel repeated what she said to himself. So he was to be a pawn again? First he was a pawn, a soldier to command and send to Perdition to fetch the Righteous Man to be used as a pawn as well. Delivering him to his body as good as new. His words declaring to all of Heaven of the first step to what was supposed to be the Apocalypse. One that he followed behind until he met the man he saved on a more personal level.

_“Dean Winchester is saved.”_

And now he was not. Castiel looked to the ceiling and past for any answers. A throne remained unoccupied and gleaming in promises that Castiel didn't know if they would ever be fulfilled.

“Another Apocalypse...” Castiel muttered to the Heavens above him. Naomi tried to defend what she was doing, her hand reached for the tool. Castiel frowned as he kept staring at the ceiling. Praying inwardly. He was brought back to life during the Apocalypse not once but twice. He started a war to stop Raphael from starting the Apocalypse.

Everything he has done and sacrificed was to stop the Apocalypse that she was opening the door to once more. Anger curled in his grace and lashed at his mind in reckless abandon.

Naomi was now standing up, closing the distance until her hand latched onto his collar and tie. Castiel made eye contact and she seemed all but ready to use that tool. And Castiel could not pull away from her, or fight. For reasons that he didn't know and he didn't care.

A memory that seemed to be fitting came back to the surface as she was fully prepared to align that tool and strike him with it.

_Castiel was left be with the Prophet of the Lord, Chuck who was drinking. He was complaining about the things he see's and Castiel reassures him as best that he can, and not very well. Eventually they come to one statement that Castiel thought so out of place and did not have a chance to answer because of the sound of the car, the impala coming into the driveway._

_“Can you? Could you keep standing up... I mean, what I see it's so hard and so dark and wrong and twisted. Can you keep standing up even though no one stands with you in the end? If the people you love the most stand against you? Can you... Would you?”_

_After that Chuck mumbled about more alcohol and Dean stormed in with Sam as though they owned the place. Castiel wasn't entirely sure of what to do with such obvious disrespect. Chuck seemed endlessly patient with it though, somehow. Perhaps it was because he was numb with alcohol. Was that why Dean drank all the time?_

Castiel wonders if this was what Chuck saw? He would ask Chuck but the man, the prophet was no where to be found. Castiel focused on the tool that was less then an inch from his eye. A lobotomy, a sloppy one. The answer to Chuck's rambling that seemed so pointless at the time was a definite yes. But he would find a way to save Dean one day, even if it is by killing him to take what's left of his innocence and forever carry it against his heart.

Focusing everything he had and stretched his grace outward. A loud statement of here I am. She did not expect him to put up this much of a fight, but Castiel could promise that he was not done yet. Not by a long shot. If Michael caste Lucifer out, Castiel will destroy Naomi so she cannot harm another by her control.

Michael ruled, Castiel will lead.

Michael watched and waited for the end to come. Castiel will guide and he will fight for it to keep carrying on.

Lucifer survived and still lives. Naomi will not.

She must have sensed this and her souring expression showed as her own grace spiked and spread out. What humans might have considered to be wings on the both of them stretched to their limits and Castiel looked her in the eyes and told her his intentions as he forced her to relinquish her tool that was going to damage him more then he already is.

Castiel is so utterly flawed and damaged and broken. But that is why he will succeed because a perfectly sculpted being cannot help a flawed one because they do not understand what it means to be flawed. Castiel does. He will not bend and compensate his standing. He will not leave an angel behind or sacrifice them for the bigger picture.

He won't abandon Earth!

He can't because the Winchester's wouldn't in his stead and they are important to him and taught him his most important lessons.

Castiel pushed all of his anger and everything he had into his will to pull this off and he attacked Naomi with everything he had. She made him speak his mind and the truth, so he did. He told her he was going to kill her.

Time meant nothing here, even less so then on Earth and in Hell. But that did not mean they didn't move on the same time line and in the same direction.

Kevin Tran was now fully missing, Castiel felt a sense of failure along with his new found determination.

Naomi was no more and angels looked to him.

Castiel will not be their Viceroy, he will be their guide and their leader. They will do what Castiel believes to be right, they will protect Earth as best that they can. But it was harder to get vessels for them compared to Demons.


	15. Epilogue Part 2

Dean found himself sitting in a fancy well kept office. There was a place to keep the alcohol in crystal holders and glasses set neatly beside it. Everything screamed rich and professional. Dean found it a bit vain though to have a photo of yourself in a SS German uniform, though the trident insignia instead of the Nazi insignia. Crowley was way too full of himself but Dean found that he didn't care all that much because he was still dealing with the aftermath of everything.

He felt guilt but that was quickly becoming numb to him.

He loved Sam still, that was his baby brother but at the same time he now found himself wondering just what Lucifer did to him and if Dean could do better. It was twisted, Dean knows this but he can't help himself.

Dean felt like he always did before but without the weighing emotional pain that catches up with him from his stint in Hell and in Purgatory. The situations he was put through by his Father and being judged and trained by the man rather then being raised. It was a heavy weight that he didn't realize how heavy it was until it was no longer there. Dean couldn't really give words to what was wrong or perhaps right with him. All he knows is that everything old was new again and he felt more a live and more free then he has in a long time now.

Dean brought Kevin Tran here, the boy woke up half way here and Dean simply used the Chloroform he stole from an old free clinic. He didn't always find things like that, due to it being a free clinic they didn't really have many things for anaesthetic because that wasn't where surgeries were performed only small tasks like colds and sprains or perhaps the odd stitch or prescription renewal. Not to mention it wasn't funded by the government so sometimes supplies were a bit lacking. Dean got lucky. So did Kevin because Dean knew how to use the stuff properly and it saved the boy from another nasty bruise.

Dean couldn't shake the betrayed look in the boy's eyes. Dean might have even wanted to feel guilty about it, but the fact was he wasn't the same anymore and he changed and he was changed in every way. He didn't even feel all that human anymore.

Dean was greeted by two demons as soon as he pulled in and parked his car. One of them took Kevin while the other wordlessly led Dean to the office, the demon was unnerved and Dean found a perverse pleasure in that. He unnerved a demon so easily as being beside it. Dean almost caught himself wondering if his late master and teacher would be proud of him. He wondered what Crowley would think of that fact. Would he be amused, proud or disturbed as well. Dean leaned back in the chair as he thought over this.

Dean wondered what Sam would be doing and thinking when he wakes up from the nap Dean knocked him into. He would be so betrayed and hurt and Dean wondered if this would force Sam to shape up properly this time and get on with it. Dean meant to grab the hunting knife as well but failed to grab it.

He dubbed it as the last act of his old self. He was giving Sam a way to defend himself against demons in general. His little brother would need it.

Closing his eyes he remembered and allowed himself to remember times in Hell and times in Purgatory. He let himself remember what brought him to this situation and this chair in this building. It should make him angry, it should make him rebel against Crowley and Castiel and everything because his fate, his life seemed to never be his own. And perhaps it still wasn't, but Dean knows and remembered that during those ten years he had the power over things and all he had to do was follow general rules but outside of that he got to do what he wanted to do. Like all of Alastairs other students and underlings. But Dean was the favoured one and he was the best at what he did under Alastair.

He wondered if Sam remembered or even knows what Dean hummed before he knocked him out.

_Dean hummed the song that Alastair sung wondering if Sam would understand it's meaning. Dean remembered that he once mentioned that Alastair sung “I'm in Heaven” during the torture session of Alastair. Not that it was much of a torture session because Alastair was enjoying it and even complimented him a few times on his skill. Told Dean that he still had a lot to learn but was doing pretty good against an old master of torture._

_Sam turned his back on him and Dean simply picked up a frying pan. It was cleaned, still warm from the hot water that was used but not hot enough to burn, Dean almost thought that it was unfortunate._

_“Hey Sam...” Dean said, keeping his tone friendly. Sam turned no doubt out of a habit and Dean saw the suspicion in his eyes not that it moved anything in Dean as he connected the frying pan to the side of Sam's face. Sam went down instantly, a look of betrayal instantly soothed out into the expression most warn when unconscious. His baby brother looked like he was sleeping, almost. He could already see the bruise forming._

_Dean heard someone, Linda call out to see if everything is okay. Dean moved quietly until he was tucked out of sight._

There was a struggle Dean remembered and it ended with Linda trying and failing to protect her son and Kevin being knocked into the wall and unconscious. Linda was left bleeding and broken. Dean frowned at the sloppiness of his cuts but shrugged it off and moved on with what he was doing.

Which ended with him sitting in Crowley's office.

The door opened and Dean peered over his shoulder and watched as Crowley entered, smug and amused and way too arrogant for his own good. Dean idly toyed with the idea of breaking that habit but pushed the thought away as he watched as Crowley poured two glasses of what Dean would assume is Crowley's favorite drink. One was handed to Dean, which was accepted without hesitation.

Crowley sat on the other side of his desk while facing Dean with a look of contemplation now.

“I didn't think you would bring the Prophet so soon. Or at all.” Crowley pointed out, voice confident and fishing. Dean shrugged as a first answer and to the look that clearly said he was expecting more of an answer then that Dean shifted in his seat. It didn't take him long to figure out what to answer the demon King though. The truth.

“You gave me a choice, very cliche using that phone.” To Dean this was enough of an answer even though it didn't cover the part about how soon Dean brought the boy. Dean didn't think that was important. An answer was an answer all the same.

Dean was mildly surprised though that Crowley seemed to accept the answer and even be pleased with it. Like some plan of his was successful and Dean knows that the demon King was probably right, not that Dean cared all that much. Things were as they were and Dean didn't feel the same way about things like he used to.

After that, idle chit chat picked up that was mostly poking for information and willingness on either end but mostly from Crowley's end. Dean was just seeing what's in the situation for him. Dean wasn't looking for power, but he was looking for something. Like where he would fit into the scheme of things by his own choice.

Eventually silence took over and keeping up civil appearances for pointless reasons faded. They just sat there regarding each other Dean drink sat finished while Crowley's only half finished as he sat back in his chair with the high back. Again making a statement of who was in control and who was in power here. Dean didn't care, it was just a stupid chair.

“Come here.” Crowley said indicating what he wanted and that he didn't want an argument or a fight. He wanted obedience and Dean idly thought about it, the idea of disobedience can possibly create an interesting situation and Dean found himself free enough to toy with a wider range of themes to play with.

Disobedience can be a game for later.

Presently though Dean found himself obeying and moving from his seat to around the table so he was standing next to the demon who pulled him down so he was bending over while his lips were claimed, a statement of ownership. Dean kissed back with no where near as much submission as there should be but this was Dean Winchester and he only did so much obedience at a time and most times depending on who you are, it's next to none. However with his Father disobedience was nearly if not nonexistent. With Alastair it was carved out of him. With Crowley, well Dean has yet to see.

Dean found himself pulled into the demon King's lap and had his mouth dominated as a reaction. Saliva, blood and bite was fully involved. All in all, it wasn't bad and had Dean wanting more. With so much emotions and shifting and changing that has happened it left him with a need to release that tension in any way possible.

Crowley was in no means of disagreeing if the possessive touches from him was any indication. Dean didn't mind, some of the touches turned to hard grips that would have him wincing and pulling away. Instead Dean practically found himself moaning and pushing into the touches. Claiming kisses when the bastard chuckled successfully silencing him.

Clothing eventually was removed or torn. Crowley hissed in anger when Dean tore some of his suite on purpose even going so far giving an expression that dared Crowley to do something about it. He did by entering Dean forcefully. Pain was the first thing that he felt and for each movement Crowley made there was pain. It lasted until Dean whimpered for something else, Dean knows this game and has played it many times before Castiel came and plucked him out of Perdition.

Crowley didn't let him have it at first and Dean insisted continuously next to the demon's ear. Clinging and gasping and grasping until Crowley relented and pain turned to pleasure and Dean pushed back for more. Giving and taking, a greedy cycle between the two of them while remaining undisturbed in the office that Crowley owns in the building that was ignored and unnoticed by the world outside of it.

Crowley seemed to be content with the victory in this game and every touch was once again a possessive ownership that Dean would push the boundaries of later. Right now he was pleased enough to lean into touches and explorations. Everything had a show of tenderness and blood to it and Dean was content to allow this to pass as he claimed Crowley's lips again ending the exploration of his neck. A firm pressure against the wound on his chest where the anti-possession tattoo was cut.

As Dean found himself coming between the two of them as he rocked himself in Crowley's lap he could have sworn he heard a gate closing to him and a soft disappointed 'no' that almost sounded like Cas.

Dean heard Crowley hiss out 'yes' but Dean couldn't be too sure as he gripped Crowley hard as liquid warmth filled him. This time it was real and Dean felt no shame.

Dean couldn't help but consider something right then as he came down from his pleasured high in Crowley's lap. Alastair may have been right, Dean was carved into a new animal and that there was no going back.

Dean asked quietly almost whispering into Crowley's ear,  
“Can I go home now?” And he so badly wanted to. And Dean knows that Crowley knows what home he was meaning, and it wasn't the kind he had on Earth. Dean felt a wicked and by no means kind smile spread on Crowley's face against his shoulder.

~Crowley~

Crowley has only been the King of Hell for three years topside, needlessly said it's been three hundred years in Hell. In that time he cleaned house pretty good and in all counts things were running smoothly for him. He had Meg caged like a pretty bird just out of reach of her old master's workshop. Untouched and separate from what demons have been using to torture and turn souls into either demons or useless product.

Since he has taken the crown for himself in good faith for his kind, not that they viewed it that way the little brats put up a fuss. Turned out they didn't like change all that much the foolish morons. For the most part he despised them, but given time he'll replace even them with newer demons who would view things his way.

He also tried to do what no other demon did and tried to expand it, without success. He cursed the Leviathans and Castiel for that. One day he'll get back at the overgrown pigeon. Crowley made a promise on that and he hated the idea of not fulfilling a promise.

And somehow along the way he ran into the situation with Dean.

Now Crowley wasn't above pride or arrogance or any of those sort of things, he was a demon it kind of went with the territory. However, Crowley was no fool and didn't allow those emotions to rule his decisions and when he gambled on situations he made sure it was stalked in his favour.

The situation with Dean, what he did to the Righteous man was a big gamble because it was an honest fifty-fifty chance that it could have went either way. But Crowley took that chance and invested time in his personal project. And to say the least he was pleased with the outcome.

On orders one demon led Dean to his office and the other brought Kevin to a specific room built to hold him temporarily. No angel can enter from the sigils Crowley carved into the foundation of this room itself. In the centre was a restraint chair, the same kind you would see in prisons for unruly con's who don't follow the rules or act proper. The boy attempted to fight but the growling that came from his left so close that Kevin no doubt felt the warmth of it's breath against the side of his face. After that he was fully restrained and muzzled but not before making demands and cursing Crowley out.

_The boy was panting as the restraint was finally put on, he was demanding information about Dean and what was done to him. As a prophet he may not sense what's wrong exactly but instinct would have led him to that same conclusion. Crowley was rather pleased with himself as he smiled down at the human causing him to wince outwardly._

_“I simply took off the bandage that was restraining what was underneath and let me tell you I have yet to see the extent that darkness has to offer.” Crowley explained, in other words they both would understand that Crowley freed the boy by taking that bondage off. Protests and arguments were muffled and Crowley left him with three demons and four hellhounds._

Not too long after that he had a most interesting interaction with Dean himself. It led to sex needlessly said and Crowley could taste the rebellious nature of the creature Dean has became and he could taste the loyalty that was bred into him as a human. All twisted and curled around Crowley's will but to see how far it goes, Crowley had to wait and see but he doubts that he'll be disappointed or bored.

Dean wanted to go home and Crowley couldn't stop the smile that showed itself as he rested his mouth against a bare shoulder. He knows Dean could feel it but the boy in his lap didn't make a move. Too busy coming down off his own high. Crowley took that chance to truly feel Dean out.

The Righteous man was righteous no more, he wasn't even human despite the fact that his body was still alive and he was still alive. This never happened before and if it has it hasn't been since he was born as a human and then as demon. In fact Dean had that sulphuric scent to him but laced under life itself. It felt different then normal demons who wear borrowed vessels. Perhaps it was because Dean was now in essence a living demon.

But to see just how far that may go Crowley would have to push it further by taking the boy home like he wanted. Crowley would put him in front of the rack again and put the razor back into his skilled hands and watch him go.

But before he reintroduced Dean to 'home' he snapped his fingers and with his own power's he made sure they both were presentable. Something told him he couldn't get Dean into a well tailored suite. Dean in some ways was still Dean and if Crowley had to deal with the pie addiction, he could live with that so long as Dean did what he should do.

Dean was recovering fast from the little romp on the chair.

It was easy for Crowley to travel between Earth and Hell, he did this daily and kept a good track of time in both places. He wasn't a fool to allow himself to lose track of time, that would be embarrassing. Dean at first was flabbergasted at the sight, the poor boy barely recognized it. But that was okay, this was only the first floor you could say. It wasn't stacked on top of each other like you would think if you read Dante's Inferno. Although Crowley enjoyed the read.

Dean was increasingly confused and no doubt felt misplaced and it went to show that Dean would be classified as old school if he could fit a category because the boy clearly felt like a demon would only he wasn't dead it was as though his soul shifted and turned right inside it's living host, it's outward identity.

“Did a lot of changes.” Dean finally said as he eyed the long line up with a slight frown, Crowley could see the displeasure showing in Dean's eyes. He in a sense truly was his master's prodigy. Crowley grinned at that, just what the doctor ordered and that would help shape up the demons here in ways that Crowley didn't. And believe me, Crowley was intimidating when he wants to be. And he had to be with demons.

“Improvements love, more organized.” Crowley corrected as he led Dean onward with a hand against his lower back. Dean allowed himself while eyeing the lineups and the doors. Crowley decided that it was best to simply start explaining everything now before Dean started to do stupid things that would ruin such a beautiful start.

Dean listened well enough, interrupting every now and again with questions or demands but aside from that Dean listened better then Crowley gave him credit for because Dean wasn't always known for being the listening type or patient enough to listen. Sometimes that title went to the moose. Sam Winchester, left alone and will eventually be targeted by demons. Crowley wondered if Heaven would interfere and keep Sam from falling as well, if the boy doesn't get his penance topside first. After all Hell laid claim to one Winchester.

Crowley entered an elevator and Dean had the 'are you kidding me' look on his face as he reluctantly followed him.

“Taking you to somewhere you might find more familiar. All the nasty rivers and everything.” Crowley commented as the elevator automatically started to go down. Crowley heard something about there being a joke about this sort of thing and Crowley thinks that there probably is but wasn't always one for looking for jokes because why should he when his own sarcasm and jabs are enough to entertain himself and sometimes others.

The doors slide open and they were greeted with the familiarity of screams and whimpers.

“There's still several layers, and area's but generally neater and well kept but most of the work these days are done on the floor we left.” Crowley explained as he led Dean onward. Dean seemed tense for a few moments but relaxed well enough. Familiar. Crowley let himself grin again, there was no going back for the elder Winchester because Hell's touch was already so deep in Dean that it changed him in a matter of days once Dean had the chance to evolve. Crowley halfheartedly thinks Dean should really consider getting on his knees and thanking his new King.

Crowley brought Dean into a large one level building that appeared to be like a hospital and morgues inside. Dean recognized it instantly and slowed his step while taking everything in. Crowley remembers this place himself only it fit his time period, Alastair liked to follow the times in the building's appearance, Crowley knows so many demons knows this place because this was where the Chief Torturer and his students dwelt and so far from Earth because Alastair never liked Earth.

Dean Crowley remembered was quickly following suite. Taking after and picking up traits of his master and teacher. But carve away who you used to be you adapt and change and for Dean, Alastair played that role so well that it became apparent that he was grooming the boy.

“Then why keep this here if you don't use it.” Dean asked as he now led the way, he knew exactly where to go and Crowley was content to just follow for now.

“Well, to be honest the idiots upstairs aren't very good at this sort of thing. Too young in their schooling and didn't attend enough classes to be as good as your late master was. And you.” Crowley answered with a shrug, and he believed his own words because as far as he was concerned it was true. He already witnessed how they didn't break souls as well as they should. And it wasn't because of the lack of tools because Crowley gives them the best to use.

“They don't have the tools to use up there, if those rooms you showed me briefly were any exception it's no wonder they can't do shit.” Dean said and Crowley saw it coming, so he didn't let himself get annoyed or to a point where he wanted to slap Dean onto a rack himself but perhaps the boy would enjoy that.

“Do you really believe that?” Crowley taunted as he tucked his hands into his pockets while Dean eyed him for a moment.

Dean shook his head no as he eyed rooms filled with two to three racks each. Tools were lining every wall in every room. Larger storage rooms were spotted down a few hallways and Crowley watched as Dean explored along the way. Reacquainting himself with his old playground.

The last room they came to had the appearance of a garage and true to Dean's memories notes lined the wall on paper made of skin. Dean was in the workshop that his tainting automatically built along the way, not that Dean knew this right away but he learnt over time.

Crowley always thought it was weird that this room was different then others but the other rooms were just hospital rooms featured blades and racks instead of things to treat you and make you well. Surgery to make a demon you can say. Crowley walked over to a table that had a wide variety of blades and interesting objects laid out. Though he was wondering why he saw a key set and a spork.

Crowley picked up a sharp blade and approached Dean and held it out to him. An offering to pick up his old master's razor and take over in his place. This wasn't a light offering that Crowley was making. But Crowley needed a proper torturer to guide the other idiots into pumping out demons like a well oiled machine.

“What do you say?” Crowley purred, a dark promise on his lips while he regarded Dean who regarded him. Without a word Dean stepped up and silently accepted the razor from his hand. An unceremonious wave of his hand and a body appeared on the rack.

“Figured she would make a good first patient for you.” Crowley calmly said as he directed Dean's attention to the rack that now sat occupied. Crowley watched with satisfaction as a grin appeared on Dean's face.

Crowley can see that this was the right decision and he looked up past Earth and to the Heaven's. A silent mock because of the victory Crowley has claimed. Heaven has lost it's Righteous man once and for all. There was no going back. Crowley exited the room, he'll be back.

The last thing he heard before he closed the door to Dean's workshop was a pleading,  
“Dean no, this shouldn't be you. What would your angel think or Sam...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am done with this story, for the most part. Dean has taken up his old master's razor. Castiel has taken up the leadership role and Sammy got to meet not so old Henry Winchester. 
> 
> There will be two for sure sequels, short though. Both of which featuring a Year from now point of view. One for Castiel and one for Sam. There might be random and odd one-shots here and there featuring Dean and Crowley. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
